


Libernobis

by Isadorabelle



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: F/M, Vorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-15 21:18:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 34,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isadorabelle/pseuds/Isadorabelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Founders are Gods, and the wormhole aliens are just that, aliens. They are false gods that are a nuisance to the Dominion, nothing more than a non-corporal bug that they simply cannot swat away enough. That's what Weyoun knew to be true, and he based everything on that. So...what happens when that's called into question? What happens when he not only doubts his gods, but turns against them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Libernobis is complete and fully posted, however I had trouble finding beta readers. I'm not difficult to work with, I promise, it's just that who I did have said that it didn't eed it, but as I glanced through while posting it here, I would spot litle things that a beta reader would pick up on. For those, I apologize.  
> Furthermore, if you'd like to beta read, I don't mind that at all.

The first moment of conscious flared painfully behind Weyoun’s eyes and slowly, deliberately, he pushed himself up from where he had been sprawled across the dull colored deck of the Jem’hadar fighter. The pain in his right hip was nauseating and intensified as the Vorta grasped the chair mounted in the middle of the bridge. It was the only chair present; Jem’hadar didn’t require a place to sit while they worked at their stations, Vorta preferred comfort. Fighting off the feeling of light headedness, Weyoun surveyed the damage around him as the ship trembled under the ribbons of energy in the wormhole. 

“Of all the times,” the Vorta rasped out and didn’t even spare himself a sigh of relief when was able to sit in the chair. His Jem’hadar warriors were sprawled over the floor and work stations, unconscious, or so he hoped. He didn’t want to arrive in the Alpha Quadrant with a ship of dead Jem’hadar as his second impression of peace from the Dominion. With renewed strength, Weyoun attempted to stand but one sharp cry later and he collapsed against the chair. Gulping and with his hair askew, he fought down the acidy bile that threatened him as he slowly started to lose the fight against the pain in his hip.

Weyoun spotted some piece of Jem’hadar uniform that must’ve torn from one of the warriors. Without much thought, he strained and picked it up before haphazardly aiming and throwing it at his First. While he was pleased that he actually managed to hit the warrior, the act was for nothing. First Thra’mataklan didn’t stir. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes a moment as he felt the ship shake around him. In the same moment that Weyoun’s battle against the bile was lost, the ship’s violent shaking quickly settled to a stop.

On his hands and knees, Weyoun shuddered at the small landscape of purple and yellow bile that covered his hands as well as the sleeves of his tunic. He shuddered again when a chunk of undigested rippleberry slipped between his fingers. I should’ve stayed unconscious, he reflected and blinked away tears. Heaving some and with a shaking hand, Weyoun reached his headset and collapsed onto his good side, his left side, to hopefully spare the damaged hip. Getting the headset on, the Vorta activated it and breathed a silent thanks to Vorta engineers and ship design as Deep Space 9 was slowly filling the little screen. 

“Open a channel.” A soft chirp offered an affirmative in his ear that it was open and Weyoun immediately issued a distress call to the Federation. This hardly what the Founders would want as the first peaceful presence after the Dominion War but at that exact moment, while he was covered in his own stomach contents and seeing his already poor vision fading into unconsciousness, Weyoun wasn’t concerned with what the Founders wanted.


	2. Chapter One

This was the perfect example of a new world meeting the old. Stone columns, most of which had been restored after the Occupation, bared the faces of figures in Bajor’s history. The column closest to her was of a woman, dressed in thick robes, with her hands clasped in front of her praying to the Prophets. The next one was of one of Bajor’s noted Kais’. In between each of the wide set columns, windows doubled as eyes over Jalanda City. Kira liked to imagine that the sacred statues were observing, watching with a benevolent gaze as Bajor flourished after the Cardassians fled their planet. Shifting her gaze from the windows, Kira Nerys looked back at the assembly currently occupying the municipal center. 

As if the distinct grey and black jumper uniforms weren’t enough, Federation banners had been erected in the hall. Though, she had to admit that at least they were a tasteful size. Unfortunately, the presence of the officers was much more obtrusive than the banners that had been displayed for the day. Tensions were hot in the hall as the simple meeting about the role of Bajoran faith on those officers that chose to believe it escalated to a heated debate about the religious practices of Federation officers as a whole.

The catalyst in the debate was clear, though surprising. Commander Vorak, a Vulcan with a yellow-olive skin tone and sharp black hair, had brought up the point that Captain Sisko, who was undeniably a hero and significant key player in the Dominion War, wouldn’t be deceased now had it not been for the apparent ‘gods’ of the Bajorans. Kira understood the reaction of her countrymen at the accusation. After all, her reaction would’ve been the same around the time that Terok Nor became Deep Space 9. It was because she was seasoned by exposure to the Federation, a secular institution, that kept her own anger controlled. Nevertheless, it was there and Kira restrained herself as she watched the Vulcan step down from the podium he was speaking into. 

Commander Mensah, a tall, thin woman with chocolate skin, stepped up. Before the conference today, she was introduced to the pretty human and instantly, Kira had liked her. Mensah had an open air about her, as if everything that came out of her mouth was sincere and honest. And, while the dark skinned human hadn’t said anything, she talked like she walked with the Prophets, like faith was a part of her. Tuning back to what Mensah said, Kira breathed in deeply as she repeated her mantra: don’t lose your temper, don’t lose your temper.

“….and, while the Federation does not officially recognize a singular entity as a ‘god’, it is at the very foundation of the United Federation of Planets to accept and embrace the different cultures. Religion is part of a different culture and, how can we presume to believe that it is within our right to infringe on the beliefs of Starfleet personnel?” 

Lesedi Mensah paused and looked to the stoic faced Vulcan whose suggestion was so invasive. “As someone whose foundation of practices and belief is based on logic, how would it impact your rights and ability to perform your duty if you are no longer allowed to, for example, research?” Lesedi did pause, but not long enough to allow herself to be interrupted. 

“Design, mathematics and science, all studies based in logic, are some of the most important facets of the Federation, however they are no more or less important than our cultural tolerance and desire to explore.” This time when the Commander paused, she didn’t immediately resume. Her lips, vaguely reminding Kira of an upside down heart, pressed together in a line as she looked over the officers. They already knew what she’d told them but Vulcans, Kira discovered, had a unique talent of making anything sound reasonable and logical, no matter how ludicrous other races thought it might be.

“At this time I would like to present Major Kira Nerys to speak on behalf of the religious community on Bajor.”

Kira breathed in deeply, asked the Prophets for patience, and approached the podium as Commander Mensah stepped down. 

“To begin with,” Kira started after a few moments of surveying the crowd “Federation efforts to recover the bodies of Captain Benjamin Sisko and Gul Skrain Dukat were unsuccessful. The extensive efforts thus far have returned absolutely nothing. Only evidence of one body was recovered, and that was of Winn Adami. No physical evidence was found to suggest that either of them were somehow burnt to nothing.” 

Kira told them and, breathing in, she continued. “So, it is inaccurate to state that Benjamin Sisko is dead. He is simply missing until we have further proof that he ceases to exist.” It was easier for Vorak to say that the Emissary was dead. If he was dead, that only gave his argument more validity. Her goal wasn’t to prove him wrong, only to prove that he may not be right. Taking a sip of the water she’d been provided with, she looked back at the Starfleet officers. Admiral Ross had been a part of the Dominion War and, seeing his face tilted to the side as he waited for her to continue, Kira honestly wasn’t sure if she was comforted by his presence. With him, it could go either way.

“Our time of association has not always been optimal for the best communication. The Occupation, our transition to a free state, and then the Dominion War all were not the best platforms for a free exchange of culture and ideas. The Bajoran people, or at least I, do not expect the Federation to understand our faith. It is very complex and takes a lifetime to learn when you are Bajoran, it is unreasonable to expect you to.” Kira finished with an amused smile, but the Bajoran cleared her throat and it disappeared. 

“Because we do not expect you to understand our religion, I do not expect you to fully….accept when a non-Bajoran subscribes to our beliefs. Benjamin Sisko was a spiritual leader in our faith before he even knew it. Regardless, he eventually embraced his role within the Bajoran culture. His sacrifice was made because of his beliefs, just as any person with strong spiritual convictions would. It is the same sacrifice any officer would make for their government.

“As a follower of the Prophets and a soldier, I do understand your dilemma. However, I do not agree with it. By questioning if an officer can or should practice their spiritual beliefs is asking them to put their government before their gods,” Kira paused and pursed her lips. “This has never gone very well throughout history.” As she stepped back, Kira thought that she should’ve rehearsed better. Though, as she took the three steps back to the seating, the Bajoran had to fight back a smile. They didn’t ask any questions, which in turn didn’t provoke her temper. Everybody won. 

Sitting back down, Kira watched as the speaker, a Bajoran officer who had been remarkably unbiased, resumed his post. Thankfully, the rest of the presentation was considerably quicker; or maybe she just didn’t notice it as much now that her part was done.

Once the assembly was dismissed, Kira saw the dark skinned officer. Briefly she reflected that her skin was a touch darker than the Emissary’s had been. Mensah spotted her about the same time and exchanging smiles, Kira cut through the grey jumpsuits to reach the Commander. 

“I don’t believe we’ve actually met face to face, Major. I’m Commander Lesedi Mensah.” Mensah stated and Kira firmly shook the human’s hand, pleased that her grip wasn’t limp. 

“It’s nice to meet you Commander. I appreciate your investment in this debate. I hope it is resolved before it becomes too much of a hot issue.” The last thing she wanted was more conflict. Her entire life was so heavily dotted with it, was it so much to ask to keep a boring existence for a little longer?

Walking with Mensah, Kira listened as she began to speak. 

“I find what Vorak wants to do to be unreasonable. But, I was raised with certain spiritual beliefs, I can’t imagine having to choose between my duty to my faith and my duty to the uniform. I don’t feel that anyone should have to.” There was a pause and Mensah’s thick lips turned into a pretty smile. “And, call me Lesedi. I’ve never been one for the formalities.”

Kira was right. She did like the woman. It was nice to see that Lesedi’s open face was a reflection of her personality. “It’s refreshing to hear that. I’m sure that there are religions all across the Federation just as there is on Bajor, but it is still good to get such active support—“ Kira paused when she heard the soft sound of her insignia on her chest. Politely excusing herself from Lesedi, Kira stepped away before tapping her communicator.

“Kira here,” the voice on the other end was some new lieutenant that had been transferred to Deep Space 9. 

“The Dominion ship arrived through the wormhole and had taken heavy damage. We used a tractor beam to take it in and Doctor Bashir is treating injuries.” Major Kira stilled and her eyes widened. 

“Why wasn’t I told as soon as the ship came through the wormhole?!” Her anger became apparent as she started towards the exit without bidding goodbye to Lesedi. 

Having taken one of the station’s shuttles down to Bajor, she knew that she could make it back to the station quickly. The conversation with the lieutenant was short as he told her that their Chief Engineer, a Bajoran named Renal Bergus, was already investigating the damage to the ship. With no more information for the Lieutenant to provide, Kira left a brief message for Commander Mensah before departing for the station. A wounded crew and a damaged Dominion vessel was a horrible way to start rebuilding a relationship.

 

As someone always concerned about his appearance, Weyoun had been immensely pleased when his clothing was clean again and he was able to comb his hair. Knowing that he was once again put together made sitting in front of a disgruntled Kira Nerys more tolerable. Though, she was still strained and had expressed that quite well so far.

“Do you mean to tell me that you don’t know what happened to cause your ship and your crew to be in that condition?” the Major questioned after Weyoun finished his admittingly bare recounting. Giving the Bajoran a patronizing smile, Weyoun slowly breathed in through his nose.

“As I recounted to you Major Kira, our ship departed Dominion space on a course to the wormhole. When we were nearing it, some unknown event occurred that caused me to go unconscious,” Weyoun said with a deliberately patient tone. “When I woke up, the ship was in distress and my crew unconscious.

“I can only hypothesize that there was some accident aboard the ship,” he continued “that somehow affected everything on it.” If they had been attacked, he had every confidence that the Jem’hadar would do exactly what the Founders engineered them to do, which was to fight and win. It was too bad that they did not engineer them to never be rendered unconscious, and then they would have evidence other than burnt out computers and scorch marks on the hull.

Weyoun’s large lavender eyes watched Kira’s warmer, darker eyes from across the desk as she debated this. Kira sighed and Weyoun only offered a simple smile. “It seems very convenient that on the first official return of the Dominion under peaceful communications, your ship is” the Major paused, looking at the somewhat slight built Vorta in front of her “compromised.”

“I agree, it is quite an interesting coincidence. However no matter how much you question me, I still will not know what happened until the crews are done.” Weyoun’s diplomatic experience kept the strain off his face as he gave her another very clearly false smile. The Major stood, forced to be content with the situation. Taking that as a cue, he stood up as well and clasped his hands. “Now that that is cleared up…” 

 

Kira wasn’t sure if she was relieved that the Vorta seemed to be distracted on the way to Bajor. Since she laid eyes on him in the infirmary, Weyoun hadn’t had that same air about him. While it was difficult for her to put specific words to the attitude, his utter and blind faith in the Founders had always created this cloud of arrogance. At least, Kira thought that that had to be it. Though, he was condescending, cruel, and an expert liar, it didn’t seem the same. Perhaps he just seemed all the more alien when he wasn’t putting on fronts. 

“Major,” Kira blinked when the pale skinned Vorta addressed her. Regarding him expectantly, Nerys waited for him to continue. 

“Like you, my beliefs in the gods…in my gods, is unshakeable.” Weyoun started and didn’t actually look at her, his eyes on a PADD in his hand that contained the day’s news. “But, I find it to be important for us to understand the faiths of other people.” Finally, he looked up to her and offered Kira another one of his smiles, though it wasn’t quite right.

“So, with the spirit of understanding in mind, I would like to visit one of your orbs.” Kira opened her mouth, but when he held up a hand, her voice stalled in her throat. 

“Major, I assure you, all I desire is a better understanding of your culture.” Weyoun stated. Contrary to his usual false tones, he sounded genuine this time. Usually, the Vorta had such a false tone that it was almost sickening. Hesitating, she slowly nodded. He was probably lying, but he couldn’t steal the orb or hurt it in some way.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Kira finally agreed.


	3. chapter Two

Major Kira had been good for what she said, which surprised Weyoun. He didn’t expect the Bajoran to arrange for him to see one of the precious orbs, but she had. Perhaps his spew about understanding another culture was affective on the Major. As it was, he had no interest in learning more about the Bajoran faith. At least, not in the spirit of understanding it better for more cooperative relations. He did want to see one of these orbs, products of wormhole aliens. 

They weren’t gods. 

The Bajoran prophets were nothing more than non-corporal aliens that lived in a wormhole and needed validation from a backwater race of wrinkle nosed aliens. By going and seeing their fancy lightshow and their ridiculous rituals, it would only reinforce in him that the Vorta were far more superior to the Bajorans and the Founders, well the Founders were the only true gods. He only wanted this experience because if you understood a people, it made it easier to dominate them. The first time, the Vorta failed their gods because they didn’t understand the Federation. If they did, they would’ve been able to defeat them. The Bajorans were part of the Federation and near the wormhole. Understanding them was important.

And, Weyoun admitted this only to himself, he wanted to reassure himself that these prophets paled in comparison to the Founders.

“Ambassador, this is important information.” Weyoun drew his attention back to the old, bearded, leather faced vedek that was telling him about the orb. Sure, his mind was elsewhere, but Weyoun thought he could stand to have a better tone than that. He was, after all, the Dominion representative. Breathing in deeply, Weyoun waved him on. 

“I was listening. Please, can we get to it? I’m afraid that much of my day is already committed to meetings.” Weyoun smiled and looked to the vedek expectantly, who hesitated, and then began leading through him an archway that led to another room. Against the wall Weyoun saw the flickering light of candles and as they rounded into the chamber, he saw that dozens of candles were on tables that lined either wall. At the other end was an ornately decorated box, one of which he knew contained the coveted Orb of Time. 

Silently, Weyoun watched the vedek extract himself from the chamber before he turned back to the front of it. So, their gift from the prophets was in that box. The Vorta knew that he couldn’t transport it away, but the idea was there, posing some small temptation. Still, he wasn’t there to cause trouble; the Dominion was supposedly finished with that. He was only there, in that temple in front of this artifact of some alien race, to gain better understanding and, on a personal level, to validate the Founders and their superiority. Approaching the box, Weyoun assumed the proper position and sank to his knees in front of it. Breathing in, expecting to be dazzled, he reached out and opened the flashy box. 

 

Once the white light that overwhelmed his vision faded, Weyoun blinked, startled when he was staring across at a group of Vorta that appeared to be adolescents. The ground moved beneath him too and it wasn’t nearly as steady as a ship, but fast moving and in only one direction. The window behind the chatting group was rapidly changing with the racing car they were in. Plush trees of a green color, with a slight blue tint, would abruptly become the silver-grey of buildings and glossy black windows. This pattern of trees and building, nature and man, continued before he turned his attention away. 

He’d never seen such a variety of Vorta in one place. The group of adolescents in front of him was just the beginning and, further along in the cylinder shaped vehicle he saw three men in similar dress with dark patterned jackets, larger handheld communicators, and very neatly styled hair. Beyond those he saw a set of young people. These, though older than the group directly in front of him, did not carry the same appearance of age that he did. Both were dressed nicely; the young man had his arm around the young woman and Weyoun noticed with interest that she seemed to smile and blush each time he leaned over to whisper something in her elongated ear. One time, he even saw the man lick over her ear, which caused the woman to gasp in and smile, face slightly clouded by arousal for a brief moment. His attention was so intent on the couple, who no one else seemed to notice, he didn’t hear the person closest to him. 

“Rujhah,” This time he felt a hand on his shoulder. Weyoun very nearly jumped out of his skin when he looked back at the speaker. “I don’t know what you’re staring for, Mah’lel isn’t exactly a hag.” He blinked at the snickering laughter before summoning up some concept of composure. 

“I apologize, what were you saying? It’s been a long day.” Using the classic excuse, he was relieved to see his apparent companion wave it off and shift his feet. Weyoun did note that like the three men, both he and this man were dressed in similar clothing. Patterns of green, dark gray and black patches covered his outfit while his companion’s was similar with lighter grays and blues. 

“I had been telling you that the stocks in the company are looking better than ever. It looks like all the ethical nuts finally lost the battle.” This seemed to be a victory for the blue suited man. 

“That’s very good for us then,” Weyoun replied, trying to appear interested and knowledgeable about the conversation. 

“No shit,” the man replied before continuing. “Have you been able to talk Mah’lel into at least considering cataloging her DNA? With you working for the company, you two can get it for free. By the time it hits the public market, can you imagine how much they’ll charge for the cataloging, resurrection, and harvesting of Vorta? It’s different when we resurrect people’s pets, a few hundred rekas, maybe a thousand for the higher and bigger breeds, but for a person?” He shook his head. “You’re looking at ten-thousand. Easy.”

Ah, in this illusion, his people appreciated cloning. Weyoun still knew the rumors, murmured from the lips of defective Vorta, were just that: silly little rumors. The Founders brought cloning to them, once they made them more than unintelligent animals.

“She is still undecided about it.” Weyoun replied casually. “It might take it going public to convince herm hopefully. Who wouldn’t want that?” He replied, fully confident of that statement at least. The idea of having only a single lifetime was terrifying. How difficult it must be for non-Vorta to know that one fatal blow and that was it for them. There was no resurrection, no waking up as a new clone. What a horrible existence. 

“Exactly! As much as those tree dwelling faggots cry about cloning, you know that if they were shot and dying, they’d be begging for the cloning and mapping technology so that they’d just go to sleep and wake up in a whole new body.” He watched the man’s thin lips turn up into an almost bitter expression. “I say that society would be better to just build a high fence, stick ‘em all in it and let them spread their diseases until they all die out. 

Weyoun was silent a moment. “Why die when you can live forever through clones? Never get old, never get sick, and never be afraid of accidents.” He shook his head. At least he understood this part of the conversation. He smiled when the man in the blue suit agreed with him again. The topic moved to something not quite as informative to him. His companion’s name was Favrel and his wife, Ashaka, was a plumper, shorter woman, more so than Favrel liked. Weyoun also discovered that Favrel had to purchase an expensive bracelet for his mistress so that she wouldn’t tell Ashaka about their relationship. He was going to get it before going to his son’s playoff game of Rusken against the Wall Park Saints.

Soon, Favrel and he both exited the vehicle, which he discovered was a silver metro train with a very streamlined and sleek design. It ran on tracks above and below the city, providing views and multiple stops in many areas. The trip gave Weyoun the chance to develop a distasteful opinion of Favrel, as well as to people watch. By the time the romantic couple had gotten off, he’d seen her stand and straighten her skirt, tugging it down over her knees while the male had discreetly fastened the clasp of his pants. Realization had dawned on him, though Weyoun covered it up before Favrel could comment on that in addition to everything else. They were engaged in sexual conduct in public! He didn’t want to think about how offensive that was or about the amount of audacity they had to have to perform like that in public. It was bad enough that people did it in private.

Apparently, he and Favrel regularly ‘carpooled’ to work. While the idea of spending more than the necessary time around the other man wasn’t appealing, getting to some place of relative privacy was a necessity. It was with that in mind that Weyoun risked life and limb in Favrel’s black private car so that the man could take him home. After getting out of the car and seeing the purple lights of his vehicle disappear around the corner, Weyoun savored the sweet smell emanating from the blooms on a nearby tree. Funny, he never noticed that kind of thing before. Perhaps it was a result of seeing every single moment of every single clone he’d ever been flash before his eyes in the span of just a few minutes. 

Shaking his head, Weyoun then rubbed his eyes as he listened to the sound of his feet fall on snugly placed stone. The door to his home was lit up by six soft white lights set in either the wall around it. As he approached, they brightened and a purple light at face level activated. He paused, almost stumbled, as a beam erupted from it and quickly scanned over his face. A chirp of sounded and he read ‘Welcome home Mr. Rujhah Connard’ on the screen. Taking that as a positive, Weyoun reached out and opened the door.

The home, he discovered, was decorated in hues of green and brown. They were colors frequently found in nature, though Weyoun couldn’t say if it was tasteful or not. He had no sense of aesthetics. 

“It’s about time. I already put the baby to bed.” 

Weyoun turned to see a woman with long hair approach him. It was thick and curly, seeming to hug her face and shoulders like an outfit. The lilac colored robe she wore was nearly the same shade of her eyes and Weyoun could identify the peeking presence of white lace over the v-neck of the tied robe. Suddenly, he regretted not appreciating aesthetics. If he did, maybe he would know if she was as beautiful as he thought she must be. 

Remembering that this was a role, Weyoun allowed the woman to rest her hands on his shoulders and kiss his lips. Distractedly, he noted that her lips were soft. “I’m sorry I’m late,” He apologized, wondering what had made him so late. Was it not normal for him and Favrel to take the train? Either way, it seemed to be forgotten as Mah’lel took the communicator he’d carried the whole time and placed it on the side table.

“You must’ve had a really hard day,” Mah’lel commented as Weyoun followed her through the home. He could smell an aroma, which he discovered was reminisce of the dinner Mah’lel made. Sitting down at the table with her, Weyoun picked up the fork and knife that Mah’lel had out for him. “Rujhah,” Weyoun looked up to Mah’lel’s face. Her eyes were large and vaguely reminded him of two almonds set in her face. Of course, her eyes weren’t dark but light purple, like the petals of certain flowers, and her pupils were black. Again Weyoun wished that the Founder saw fit for the Vorta to appreciate aesthetics. He thought with Mah’lel’s pale skin, she would’ve been beautiful. 

“I know that with work you can’t tell me things,” Mah’lel hesitated “but I’m here for you to…to lean on.” She gave him a smile. “I know Favrel is a good friend, but I don’t want to become like Ashaka. I’m not…” Mah’lel hesitated again and offered another smile. “I’m just not prepared to lose my best friend,” For a moment, Weyoun didn’t say anything but looked at her and tilted his head. “You won’t,” He replied in a tone of honesty. 

Favrel was thoroughly unpleasant in every way so far. They way he talked, acted, smelled, every bit of it screamed…piggish. Favrel was swine embodied in a person if Weyoun had ever seen it. The man should be wallowing in his own food and feces if only there was to be an accurate representation of him. And, Weyoun was certainly not piggish. Small dog perhaps, always scurrying after his masters, but at least dogs knew to use the paper and where the food bowl was. And, he begrudgingly admitted, they were easily trained too.

“I promise, I will never be like Favrel.” When she smiled to him, Weyoun smiled back and watched her stand. Mah’lel moved to him and bent down, giving him a long kiss. 

“Good, because I wouldn’t put up with it if you were.” He smiled to her as Mah’lel walked out, presumably to bed given the hour. Once she was gone, Weyoun’s smile faded and he looked down to the food. Without much haste, he set about cleaning up. As a servant of the Founders, he was accustomed to assisting, but as a diplomatic Vorta, he wasn’t accustomed to serving. There were Vorta for that, who were cloned, worked and died to serve other Vorta. Still, he didn’t see any of them here, and he didn’t know what this ‘orb experience’ could do to him if he failed to play along. 

Once everything was cleaned up, Weyoun began a systematic search of the house, beginning in the family room. In this search he discovered some valuable information about Rujhah Connard and the Connard family. There were three of them: a baby boy named Rahlen, Mah’lel of course, but curiously enough, he didn’t look like Rujhah. Rujhah was taller than him, appearing a bit younger and with a longer face. Weyoun confirmed that he still looked like himself with a quick glance in a nearby mirror. Ha! It was a trick of these prophets, that’s what it was. The Founders didn’t have to trick the Vorta into following them with illusions. Weyoun sat back expectantly, waiting for another bright light to envelope him. Once it did, he’d be sitting back in front of the orb. When a full minute went by and the only sound he heard was the groans of the house, the Vorta gave a disappointed sigh and stood up. Damn orb.

 

The next few days didn’t go by nearly as fast as Weyoun would’ve liked. He spent fourteen hours a day away from the house, and once he got back Rahlen and Mah’lel demanded a certain amount of attention. Worst yet, he couldn’t excuse himself—he and Mah’lel shared a bedroom! Luckily, she hadn’t expected him to perform husbandly duties yet. Sure, he knew how technically. It was standard that diplomats know how to sexually woo a potential spy for a difficult world, but he hadn’t had to sexually woo anyone in 22 years! Even then, it was the nineteen year old daughter of an emperor who he was subtly negotiating the surrender of. The Vorta remembered that with a smile. It had been easy to convince the virgin that he was almost god-like, and once the girl was convinced, she unknowingly whispered poison in her father’s ear. 

Weyoun’s good mood only improved some when he approached the door of his home. If he had to choose his favorite thing from the last few days and sleep wasn’t an option, he’d have to say that his time with his ‘family’ was the best. His work was boring and worst yet, he was around Favrel all day. Though, the loose-mouthed man did have some benefits. Because of him, he discovered that the company they both worked with worked in cloning and a lesser known part of it was in genetics. Both he and Favrel worked in that area as lower level technicians. Even then Weyoun felt out of his element, but so far no one had caught on that he had no idea what he was doing. Through their cloning, they brought back pets and through their work in genetics, several previously extinct species on Kurill were now in existence in their labs. It was fascinating, really. 

With work behind him, Weyoun shut the door and deposited his padd on the table before heading up to the bedroom. The house was dark which meant that Mah’lel was already in the bedroom. Fighting the urge to peer in at Rahlen, Weyoun quietly slipped in the bedroom, though when he saw his wife reading, he forewent the effort to not wake her up and just shut the door.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been this late.” Weyoun didn’t miss the irritation in her voice, nor did he miss that she tried to hide it. It was a sweet effort, though “I’m sorry, a meeting went over and then Favrel left me to go driving with this temporary personal assistant that he met. I had to use public transportation.” That had been irritating, though the lack Favrel’s horrendous driving had been nice. Not worrying for his mortality, especially when he was stuck in an orb, had been a pleasant reprieve. 

Mah’lel only smiled and shut the book. Standing up, she placed it to the side and took off her robe. This time it was yellow and, as he watched Mah’lel shed it, he realized that it matched her gown underneath. The top portion around her low-scooping neckline was lined with simple white lace and the bottom of the gown went down to Mah’lel’s thighs. They were rather firm, though he knew this from the night before when Mah’lel turned in her sleep and she brushed him with them. 

“Ogling will get you everywhere with me,” His eyes snapped up to her face and he smiled when she smiled at him. “You look beautiful,” Did she? He thought she had all the attributes that would classify her as beautiful. Her skin was clear, her eyes were big and her body firm and fit. More than that, Mah’lel reminded him of the daughter he had seduced. Both of them possessed a distinct purity and kindness. If he were to classify anyone as appealing, he supposed that that would be the criteria he would use. 

These thoughts vanished as Mah’lel approached him and snaked her arms around his torso. “Thank you, Mr. Connard. Maybe I should dress up more so you’d be more motivated to come home earlier.” When Mah’lel tilted her head and slid a soft, cool, wet tongue over his ear, Weyoun couldn’t resist the shudder that went through him or the way his hands clenched instinctively to her hips. It was very stimulating and in ways that he normally didn’t care to be stimulated. Sex was a tool, not an indulgence. Though, if there ever was a safe time to indulge, he supposed an illusion would be the best place to do so. 

“Mah’lel,” taking her hands, he cleared his throat and shifted until his wife was looking at him. “I had a very long day,” Weyoun measured the apologetic tone in his voice and watched as a flash of understanding, as well as disappointment went over Mah’lel’s features. Impulsively, he continued “if it hadn’t been such a long day….I’m sorry Mah’lel. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Maybe we could have dinner out?” When that didn’t seem to erase the look on her face, Weyoun felt compelled to try again. It was because she was all he had here, he was sure.

“Maybe a romantic dinner?” his tone prompted a response, to which he received none “and afterwards, we could go…do something you like.” 

She seemed satisfied with the effort. “Alright, we won’t mess around tonight.” Smiling, she kissed him again. Weyoun could feel her breasts press against him and one of her legs brushing against the front of his thighs and, irritatingly enough, an erection that was a result of her attention to his ear. The Founders should’ve made all parts of their body insensitive. This was cruel. Giving a nervous smile, he pulled back. “Well, we should sleep.” Relief washed over Weyoun as Mah’lel went to her own side of the bed and he was blissfully untouched by her. 

“Rahlen’s party is almost totally planned,” Weyoun froze, his hands poised over the next button of his shirt. Why would Rahlen be having a party? He thought over what he knew about the child before recalling that his birthday would be soon. “Oh really?” Weyoun asked and continued undressing for bed.

“I decided against a caterer though. It’s only ten kids and about six adults. I can cook for that many.” Mah’lel paused and watched as her husband, now in his plain black pajamas, crawled into bed. “We’re not so presumptuous as to need caterers I don’t think.” Weyoun returned the smile Mah’lel gave him after her comment and, after a moment of thought, he leaned over and kissed her. She seemed more agreeable when he showed her affection. Mah’lel murmured a goodnight to her husband before shifting in the bed, her head turned from him as she settled into the soft mattress for the night. Weyoun took the moment to watch her with an unguarded face.

 

The next month was a flurry of activity and with each passing day, Rujhah became an identity that he was comfortable with. Hearing Mah’lel murmur the name, the distinct sound of a smile in her soft voice, was no longer so foreign to him. Though, he could’ve done without it being belched from Favrel’s mouth. It would truly be the removal of a blemish from the Vorta race if Favrel met his untimely end, preferably something embarrassing or that involved a sexually transmitted disease. Weyoun smiled at the irony of that as he chopped up one of the crisp vegetables that Mah’lel put him to work on in the kitchen. In effort to minimize his exposure to the disdainful man, Weyoun had begun bringing his lunch to work and feign being behind so that he remained in the building while Favrel fraternized. His wife had been very agreeable to this, among other things. 

Husbandly duties had not been something he was able to avoid the whole time. Though, he found once he stopped resisting Mah’lel’s wiles, Weyoun begrudgingly realized that, perhaps, her wiles were not so bad. As a matter of fact, once he got over the initial discomfort of it and enjoyed the stimulation, he rather liked her wiles. 

“What are you grinning about?” Weyoun’s smile instantly pulled into a line across his face as he felt Mah’lel’s arms around his waist. She smelled like the flower fragrance perfume she had upstairs, he noted, and turned his head to look to her. 

“You,”

Weyoun saw no reason to be dishonest about that. Even if he wasn’t serving the Founders here, the ambassador could almost say that he was happy. Feeling that that word was treacherous, Weyoun adjusted the word within himself to comfortable. Yes, he was comfortable there, within this illusion. 

Half an hour later the Vorta found himself leaving home, his briefcase in one hand, his lunch concealed safely inside, and riding to work with another tech, Chales. He was quiet, thankfully so, and only made uptight small talk about the weather and traffic. He was the image of awkward, stiff necked perfection and Weyoun couldn’t have been happier. Getting to work with ten minutes to spare, and without the chorus of blaring warning signals and the steady, fast drumbeat of his heart, Weyoun quickly passed through security and to his cave workroom in the basements of the company. 

His usual workstation, a place he had become adequately familiar with, had been removed in the night. Instead, a series of five pods were settled in the middle of the floor where the collective terminals had been. Roughly they resembled Vorta cloning facilities with smooth, beetle-like shells over the top and a rich black complexion that reflected the lights above so well that he saw each bright round disc on the surfaces of the pods. Technicians in lilac patterned lab coats stood against one wall, each an assigned task as they monitored what he presumed to be the status of the large compartments. These were people he worked with, so Weyoun followed their example, donned his own lab coat, and set to work, mindlessly checking information.

 

“Bet you wish you came into work with me today, don’t you?” The hiss beside his ear was unmistakable and Weyoun watched Favrel in his own lab-coat. How long had he been there? Looking to the violet digital clock posted in the large room, he noted that he’d already been there two hours.

It amazed Weyoun, and almost disturbed him, to see how much the technicians resembled cloning directors. Except for the lilac robes, they were identical. In this illusion, and he knew it was an illusion, they were a society who served no gods. Shaking such thoughts from his mind, Weyoun was about to check the humid temperature in one of the pods before the whoosh of the doors sounded across the nearly empty room. Like the rest of the technicians, Weyoun turned and promptly dropped the board, the sound creating a noticeable and unpleasant pop as it hit the floor. 

Flanked by two Vorta of different sizes, both of which donned a pattered tunic, the smooth and undefined figure of a Founder approached with all the grace on Kurill. Recovering quickly, Weyoun picked up the board and swallowed. As if by engrained habit, his arms nearly spread and his head even began to droop into a respectful pose to his god. He barely stopped the action and composed himself when the Founder, who chose a feminine form, stopped in front of the group. 

“The work you have done here,” her voice sounded so elegant “will live on forever.” Weyoun watched her figure turn and she slid one hand over the nearby hub. “Your species will be rewarded for your vast achievements in cloning.” Her head turned, her hand almost caressing the pod as she scanned over the Vorta lined up so neatly. 

“You will drink the wine of a thousand worlds and reap the benefits of being part of the Dominion. You, your children and your children’s children will live in the stars and be gods among men on worlds you have never seen.” Her taunt face drew into a smile and she held her hands open. “You will never see the end of the Vorta.”

Countless times Weyoun listened to similar speeches said by his Founders but, as he watched her look at them with the same exact expression, the same tone and the sense of false friendliness, the Vorta couldn’t deny that it was not pleasant to be on the receiving end of such a statement and know the fate befallen on so many others. 

Suddenly, the benevolence he felt towards the Founders mutated, grew and turned into something dark and monstrous within him. It was an illusion; Weyoun struggled to remind himself as the Founder went on about revealing alien life to the general public. None of it was real, they were tree dwelling apes! The Founders showed kindness to their people by making them the diplomats, the hands and the designers of the Dominion. This was some sick illusion created by the Bajoran prophets. 

Now they were talking about the response of most civilians, but Weyoun didn’t hear them as he fell back from the herding crowd of technicians, anxious to hear the Founder. Changeling. Alien. 

“…of course, many will panic, rebel…”

“The loss of life is inevitable, but what we gain-“

“It isn’t that many and just the undesirables”

“Really, do we want them in this revolutionary track for our species?”

 

The bright light once again enveloped Weyoun and he slumped forward, grabbing the table in front of him as he went from standing to kneeling, from air conditioned and sterile to warm and scented. Gasping in several times, the Vorta straightened and looked around. This room was dark in comparison to the basement lab. He recognized it, a distant memory. 

He was back on Bajor, in his rightful time, in front of the Orb of Time. Impulsively the Vorta reached out to reopen the doors to the orb. Mah’lel and Rahlen, he just had his first birthday and he didn’t tell her how much he appreciated her patience. Slowly he withdrew his hands. No, they were an illusion. Mah’lel and Rahlen hadn’t been real; they were figments of some wormhole aliens’ imagination. 

That should’ve provided some comfort, but as Weyoun looked down, his chest ached and his vision, already poor, began to blur.


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter 03

When one looked at Admiral Dakin Patterson, the first impression was very unassuming. Yes, he was an admiral and the rank showed on his uniform accordingly, but when Kira saw the older man, whose hair was receding and skin was a friendly shade of peach and pink, she thought like everyone else and instantly liked him. By the end of Kira’s meeting with the admiral, Kira still liked him, though with a greater understanding and respect for the former calculus professor. He remained nice during the meeting, though the strength and firmness beneath his advisement and orders had been unmistakable. He was one of the few people she had encountered who could balance friendliness with firmness so well. Almost always the scale tipped in one direction too far and a commanding officer could lose the respect of those beneath them.

The admiral and his friendly face had still been on Kira’s mind as she waited outside of the temple Weyoun was in. He was fortunate that Bajor and the Federation wanted to heal wounds with the Dominion, otherwise he would not have had this opportunity. Personally, Kira felt almost offended to have him at one of their orbs. Yes, it wasn’t a reasonable feeling, but when someone was so arrogantly sure about who their gods were and you knew all they wanted to do was poke fun at your own, it didn’t leave a pleasant feeling sitting in the bottom of your stomach. It was that same, solid mass in her stomach that had Kira wishing she could rub over her abdomen.

“Ah, Major,” 

Turning at the sound of Weyoun’s distinct voice, she gave the ambassador a formal inclination of her head. In turn a smile stretched over his face, with a degree of falseness, and the Vorta graced her with a similar gesture. Leading the Vorta and his three Jem’hadar guards back to the shuttle, Kira remained silent until the small group was on board and had departed for the station.

“So, was your visit productive?” The Bajoran officer asked, though it was less out of personal interest and more to pass the time and to get his impression of their culture. Perhaps if the Vorta had a better understanding of the Bajoran faith it would help in the peaceful talks between the Dominion and the Federation. There had to be a first step.

“Orb experiences, are they not personal? Aren’t they an intimate event that you do not customarily share?” He asked pointedly but politely. 

“You’ve been acting odd since your arrival to the station.” Kira replied, not admitting that that was indeed a personal experience. This was not the usual case of a simple individual going to the orbs, this was a servant with a genetic predisposition to worship other aliens. Everything Weyoun did, he did for a reason. “And your lack of forthcoming now bothers me. A visit to the orbs is not a small ordeal.”

“Major Kira,” Weyoun began and looked at her. “When I was last here, were you not a Colonel?” The Vorta asked, changing the subject ever so carefully and gave Kira a small, albeit slightly patronizing, smile. All of it was just to avoid her line of questioning, which he found tiring.

The Major took a few moments to respond, seemingly ignoring him as Deep Space 9 loomed, like a child’s toy, brown and bronze in color, dangling over a crib, in the view screen. “I was a Colonel, but there was this ambassador on the station. He annoyed me by avoiding questions and trying to anger me in order to distract me. It worked and now I am a Major again.” Kira replied smoothly, not letting on if it was true or not, and glanced at Weyoun. The Dominion Ambassador remained silent and looked to the station.

“I have a greater understanding of your people, your gods, now that I have experienced one of your orbs.” Weyoun finally told Kira. They were almost there now; Kira was positioning the shuttle to descend and hide within the docking ring. The details of the station’s docking ring came into view as they lowered into the waiting dock. The sources of light from outside sharply cut off and the cabin of the shuttle was full of artificial light. 

Almost impulsively, Weyoun spoke again. “Major,” he paused and turned to look at her in his chair, “may I ask a favor of you?” While his voice wasn’t overly urgent, it was still clear that he expected, and very much wanted, an answer quickly. 

“You’ve asked to see one of our orbs and got it, I can’t imagine what other favors you might ask.” Looking to the Vorta, Kira decided to humor him. “What is it?”

“I am aware that the Federation did mapping in the Gamma Quadrant prior to the war. Was this one of the areas?” Weyoun asked and them procured a small datapadd from his jacket and handed it over. The coordinates were of a specific area, one outside of the Dominion and one that Weyoun could admit that he didn’t know much about. 

“I think we did. What do you want?” Kira asked, after she thoroughly looked over the information on the datapadd. It was a strange question to be sure, but she wanted to have an idea of why.

For a moment, Weyoun didn’t answer and then looked to Kira, giving her a simple smile. “Founder Odo assigned me a project while I was here. Part of it is to work with the Federation and if necessary, pool resources.” Weyoun explained to her, his hands folded neatly in front of him.

~*(O)*~

“And then, that was it.” Lesedi blinked at Kira from across the small table in the middle of the Bajoran’s quarters. Thoughtfully, the woman took a sip of the Bajoran Spring wine that she’d brought to the dinner. The quarters were nicely decorated with a woman’s touch, though in her opinion, any touch was better than the empty grey and browns of the metal walls. Kira had done well with light orange and red cloths hanging on the walls and some pictures of Bajoran landscape mounted orderly. It was certainly an improvement.

“You gave him the star charts then? Well, it does make sense, they are just star charts.” What argument could she really make against giving them to him and not endanger the fragile peace they had with the Dominion right then? Kira seemed to be thinking along the same lines. 

“It isn’t as if there is any sensitive information in them. There weren’t any planets in it that bore any substantial life, nothing that I can think of that the Dominion doesn’t already have access to. It’s the why he was asking for them that has me wondering,.” Kira Nerys said with a sigh and pushed the plate away before sitting back some. “I’m sorry Lesedi,” She apologized and laughed some. “You came here for a nice dinner and I’m talking your ear off with all this,” 

The dark skinned woman waved it off and wiped her mouth. “Please, it’s good to know and a nice change. All this debate on Bajor, people like Vorak, it is a relief to focus on something else.” She smiled. “Anyway, at least this is first hand information. It’s better than hearing about the Romulan border or some new thing on Cardassia via the table next to mine at lunch.” Both women laughed some. Deep Space 9 was good for being a pool teeming with rumors and hushed conversations and you could only listen to a small fraction of any of it.


	5. Chapter Four

For the past hour, Weyoun had been ensuring the neatness and efficiency of his ship. Though, it wasn’t as if he didn’t do that as a regular, daily task. But a Founder, specifically Odo, was coming on board. Everything had to be perfect. He was after all, a god. 

Gods deserved nothing less than what they demanded or requested from their followers. Sometimes they didn’t get what they deserved. 

As Weyoun aligned a sensor, one barely out of place but out of place nonetheless, he wondered what it was like for the Federation. Most of the members had all but turned away from their ancient gods. They faded out of existence as anything meaningful and became the reasoning of a people that didn’t understand the universe. Those thoughts made Weyoun smile; he understood the universe, even as he finished his once-over in preparation for the arrival of his god. Briefly he wondered if they pitied those that still held strong to a religion.

With his hands clasped behind his back, Weyoun watched as a column of glittering light became apparent on the elevated pad in the room. The outline of a humanoid figure appeared and gradually began to solidify on the pad until Odo, the best link to the Alpha Quadrant and a Founder, looked at him.

“Weyoun,” Odo stepped off and walked in Weyoun’s direction, whose arms were out in humble supplication. 

“Welcome aboard Founder…Odo.” He preferred Odo over Founder and Weyoun had taken to forcing himself to use the name. It seemed to irritate the Changeling when he didn’t. “If you would like to assess the ship to verify that it is up to your standards, I am happy to show you around. I think you’ll find everything in exceptional shape.” Keeping step just slightly behind Odo, Weyoun watched him shake his head. 

“That won’t be necessary, Weyoun. I trust that you are as efficient as ever.” There was always a distinct difference in how Odo spoke and the other Founders. The tone of the others was always clipped and always, always firmly established the boundary between god and servant. Odo’s tone, on the other hand, was more conversational. Oh, there was no mistaking the authority behind it, but he was obtainable; touchable.

The trek from the transporter room to the small conference room was short and soon enough, Odo was standing in front of a series of hollowed out squares of different sizes. With a single touch of a button, slightly transparent screens woke up within the sophisticated steel colored frames. New technology that they had acquired there in the Gamma Quadrant was being installed in the ships as fast as possible. Weyoun got satisfaction out of knowing that his ship was one of the first ones to be outfitted with it.

“As you can see here Fou—Odo, the situation with the apparent overload aboard my ship before was quickly taken care of. It did not appear to negative impact my mission—“

“Weyoun, this is all very interesting, but I was able to keep track of the progress from the reports you provided.” He stated. “I’m more interested in gathering your opinion, as a diplomat. How did it go?”

The Vorta in front of him pondered the question a moment, choosing his thoughts and words carefully. “I believe,” he began the statement slowly and deliberately. “That it was as much of a success as the Dominion could have hoped for. It helps that the Federation is somewhat distracted by some issues of religion on Bajor. We are still of importance, but not their sole concentration.” Weyoun obediently provided with one hand behind his back while the other rested lightly on the wall over the control panel.

 

Odo nodded. “I am relieved that your reception was not a negative one at least. It is important to the Great Link and the Dominion as a whole that we from a lasting bond with the Federation. We will both likely be around for a very long time.” He stated. Odo knew that it was more information than he had to provide, but unlike his people, he preferred a closer relationship with those Vorta that had, in the past, proven to have a certain level of independent thought. They had potential as a species; he hoped to someday see that potential explored. One Weyoun had been unique in his ability to go against the Dominion and think for himself, yet at the same time operate with the Dominion’s best interest at heart. It made him an individual, which was unique in the Vorta species.

The Changeling felt a spasm of alarm go through his insides as a shield dropped over his person. He could feel it as it seemed to resonate throughout his liquid body and locked him into the form in front of Weyoun. Looking up at the Vorta, confusion flickered across his face. Weyoun stood in front of the force field, his face drawn into a mix of indifference, to Odo’s discomfort, and patience as the changeling oriented himself with the sudden change in situations. 

Finally, Weyoun spoke. 

 

“Odo, I apologize for the containment field, but I wanted to be certain that I have your undivided attention.” Weyoun’s voice was soft and distinctly Vorta as he spoke to Odo, who seemed so caught off guard by his sudden act of mutiny. Good. “I have some images to show you that I personally find disturbing.” Weyoun’s voice continued on and, with a movement of his hand over the panel, the display images blurred before changing all together. 

Statistics and information had faded away, replaced by scenes of ruin. The structures on the screen were dull, rusted browns with hollow rectangles punched out where windows used to be. Some of them weren’t standing at all, destroyed or severely damaged by some external means or by time it’s self. On one of the screens were smaller buildings, many of which arched and lined a single row. Smaller vehicles sat in some of the drives, yards or, in one of the cases, partially through the houses. Much like the dead city, these too lacked even wildlife to occupy the homes. The final image, and the biggest one was of a park. Twisted and gnarled trees dominated half the image, their branches stretching out or up. Weyoun imagined them in pain, the trees reminded him of how it felt moments before a suicide implant finally finished it’s task. 

“Do you see that, above the trees?” He asked and pointed at the image. The other half of it was the Kurill sunrise, vibrant streaks of green and purple, an atmospheric reaction to the sun much like twilight in the evening, coiled up from the barren horizon and towards the navy blue night. “I think that must be beautiful.” Weyoun murmured and finally looked back at Odo. “I don’t know for sure, but I think so. You see, I have no sense of aesthetics. So, I can’t for sure that that is beautiful, or that all this is devastating or ugly, at least not aesthetically.” He explained, though Odo knew that the Vorta had no need for those senses, not in their service to the Founders. 

“What is the point of this?” Odo finally questioned. Weyoun smiled. 

“This is Kurill. This…city, these homes, that park right there beneath the sunrise, that’s the uncivilized, unevolved beginnings that are the Vorta.” It came out more bitter than Weyoun intended. “I found it in Federation surveys. They didn’t take these images, I did, but they surveyed a part of space that the Founders conveniently had our own surveyors ignore.” He explained in a very matter-of-fact tone. Breathing in deeply, he looked at Odo. “I found Kurill. I’ve seen my people’s humble beginnings and I know what the Founders did to us, what we allowed them to do.” This time Weyoun didn’t hide his tone or his true feelings. The tone of betrayal was so present in his voice that it acid on his tongue, making his lips curl. 

“We were not ape-like creatures barely sentient and hiding in terror in trees,” He continued and began to pace “We were a thriving civilization. Perhaps too much and too fast, but thriving nonetheless. And then they came, the Founders changed our world. The same Founders,” Weyoun rounded to look at him. “The same Founders that sent out 100 infants to fend for themselves. The same Founders that could excuse the annihilation of a race. I don’t like Cardassians anymore than the next person, but an entire species?” Knowing now about Kurill, he felt that somehow, a whole species was put into a new perspective. His whole species was enslaved; the Female Changeling wanted to destroy a whole species. 

Weyoun watched the range of emotion pass over Odo’s face. First realization as he saw the images. And, then, a betrayal similar to the one he felt. Beneath it all though, Weyoun’s trained diplomatic eye didn’t miss the sadness. Yes, he would be sad too if his people lied to him. “I suppose you are wondering why I’ve decided to tell you all of this,” He resumed quietly, his emotion calmed again behind a serene, collected face. 

“I am a bit curious, yes.” Odo finally found the words and managed to push them out with some authority. 

“I require your help,” The statement insinuated that he wasn’t done, but Weyoun waited until Odo’s eyes were on him before he continued. “And if you are not prepared to give it, I am not prepared for either of us to survive the destruction of this ship.” 

His tone was almost regretful. It would be such a waste to lose Odo, but he had taken these first steps down this path and even if he wanted to, there was no going back. “You would die, the investigation would show an abrupt, unpredicted malfunction in the warp cells, and I would be reborn in a new Weyoun and interrogated by the Founders, but eventually let free, just a little worse for wear. Worst yet, I would be free with the information I just showed you.” The threat was spoken and he saw Odo’s forced humanoid form stiffen, like a snake shifting to a defensive stance. “And no one would be the wiser to this. Please Odo, think carefully.”

“You obviously have a plan, out with it Weyoun.” Odo’s tone was tired when he spoke several minutes later, but it made Weyoun smile. He won Odo over.


	6. Chapter Five

“When you graduated the academy, Commander, you made a commitment to Starfleet.” 

Vorak’s voice was unnervingly steady and had the haughty arrogance in it that gave Lesedi the sudden urge to punch him in the mouth. While visualizing doing just that was a quick indulgence, the commander closed her eyes and breathed in deeply as she counted down from ten. That would keep her rank intact. Though, when she opened her eyes again and saw Vorak’s forest green eyes leveled on her face, just a trace of satisfaction around his thin lips, she had to fight the urge to hit him all over again. 

“I do honor, and will continue to honor, my commitment to Starfleet.” She began slowly. “However, almost every individual has a set of beliefs of some sort that comes before the uniform.” After he opened his mouth and before noise came out of it, she held up a long, slender finger to stop him. “This is an important part of an officer, an important part of a Bajoran officer serving the Federation. There is a word for governments that demand to be the official religion of a people or for them to have none at all.” Lesedi was sure that her Vulcan annoyance would have a comeback for that, but it was true. His argument wasn’t fair and was a step in a dangerous direction should Starfleet and the Federation actually consider it. 

“Your devotion to defending the Bajorans is interesting when you do not even wear your own religious paraphernalia over your uniform.” Vorak’s change of tactic surprised her, but she didn’t miss a beat.

“I don’t wear my cross over my uniform because it is against regulation. Stop trying to change the subject! For now I am allowed to practice my faith, take holy days off and openly pray and you would like to see those rights taken away from me and from anyone with any kind of faith.”

“Because they may interfere with your ability to do your duties or make sacrifices—“ 

“So would a family or having children, but I don’t see you trying to make people stop having sex!” When Vorak’s eyes widened and an expression of indignation broke across his stoic face, Lesedi couldn’t stop a barking laugh and ‘ha!’ from escaping. It was childish, but when dealing with a Vulcan, one had to savor the small victories. 

Whether or not she had talked the Vulcan into silence Lesedi would never know. Both communicators chirped at the same time just before a message sounded on both. It was short and to the point, which made it contain all the more authority. All senior officers were to report to the Federation Conference Hall for Officers immediately. Without a word the argument was put aside, though hardly forgotten, as both headed to conference hall. 

 

“At 9:42 Standard Federation Time, the USS Montreal encountered a Romulan war-bird on our side of the Neutral Zone,” The image of Admiral Ross paused just a moment, as if in the live broadcast to the senior staff, he was collecting his thoughts or revaluating what he was about to say. “The war-bird was completely powered down and had drifted for an unspecified amount of time. The reason the craft had drifted was because the entire crew manning it was dead.”

The admiral went on to summarize the state of things that greeted the away team. Some hung themselves in their quarters, though most who chose suicide did so with a pill, a poison that the Federation knew that they used. Those had been the gentler deaths. Along with the multiple suicides there were multiple homicides that were committed in a variety of ways. While some were obviously defense—one battered individual had died with their attacker, who they had shot with a phaser while they were over them—others were motivated by passion. A fury had gripped some members of the crew, though the staff being briefed was spared further details. 

On the display, even Ross seemed slightly troubled by the description he just delivered to the staff. “The only thing out of place that has been found in the investigation” and it was important to bear in mind that it wasn’t over “was a Bajoran orb.”

This caught the attention of a few Bajorans in the hall, though their sudden, soft murmuring was stopped when the image on the screen continued.

“This orb seems particular in nature as it doesn’t have the same characteristics of other orbs.” His face was replaced by an image taken of it. The color was dark, though not like a dark orb. Instead it was dark red with a certain low, quiet glow within it. “You are being informed of this development because you are the senior staff on Bajor that this situation most concerns. The Romulan Empire is demanding the return of their ship as well as the orb, however negotiations for the orb are in place.” Ross’ profile returned shortly after he began speaking again and, despite communicating via subspace, he seemed to be looking at them.

“You will be kept abreast of decisions made in relation to this. Captains, Commanders, this matter is private and not to be discussed. Ross out,” 

Lesedi stood up with the other twenty or so people privy to this information. She looked until she saw Nerys. Catching her eye, she held it for just a moment before giving a slight nod. It was returned with a troubled look before Lesedi looked away. The single look contained a conversation, an agreement between the two women to meet for lunch later than they originally planned. Both of them would have work to do now. 

“You realize, in all probability, what will happen if that orb comes to Bajor?” Lesedi stopped herself from jumping, but did gasp in at the curt sound of Vorak behind her. Twisting, she looked at the Vulcan, realizing only now, with that statement and after the briefing, that Vorak was one of those tall, lanky sorts. He was taller than her. 

“What’s that Vorak?” The woman asked, her shapely, full lips pushed together slightly as she stared the Vulcan in the face.

“It means,” Vorak continued with a patronizing tone, “that when and if it reaches Bajor, the Bajoan religious leaders will examine it, consult the Prophets, their orbs, and this new orb will be tied up in the politics of religion, regardless of what is best for the welfare of the Federation as far as the Romulans are concerned.” The Vulcan explained to her. The corners of his mouth tilted up, though if it was a grimace or an attempt at a smile Lesedi didn’t know. “And, it will not be an issue at all if the policies I m recommending are put into action.”

Lesedi didn’t say anything for a few short moments. “You….you put me in a very unhappy frame of mind.” The commander told him bluntly and didn’t remove her eyes from Vorak. “You are arrogant, relentless, and unpleasant. And, my duty as an officer doesn’t say that I need to be speaking with you right now, Vorak.” Turning on her heel, Lesedi let Vorak watch the back of her curly, short cropped hair walk away as she started for her office, intent on putting distance between her and the tenacious man.

 

Kira Nerys listened to Lesedi recount her encounters with Vorak and throughout it, the Bajoran had to use her drinking glass and hands to mask the smile on her face. Lesedi was a rare breed of person in that she was genuinely nice and strangely old fashioned. To hear Lesedi talk about Vorak, who Kira agreed wasn’t the most pleasant Vulcan she’d met, made her grin. Of course, she would only offended the human further if Lesedi detected Kira’s amusement, so before she lowered the glass, Kira made sure her face was blank.

“Vorak just doesn’t understand having faith in something other than logic and science. He worships those, in his own way.” Kira stated with a sense of familiarity. In her dealings with the Federation and with Cardassians, she had seen many people who didn’t have a faith, no one to take comfort in or allow to guide them. And, that was fine. It became bad only when they insisted that everyone else abide by the same lifestyle.

“I understand his points,” Lesedi admitted after a few moments. “At least, as far as spiritual priorities versus military priorities go. But, he acts as if compromise isn’t an option or that these two perspectives offer such dissimilar examinations.” Hesitating, she sighed. “There doesn’t have to be a, firm ‘do not cross’ line between the two. Compromise, tolerance, and communication, working together goes a long way.” Shaking her head, she took a bite of her salad. For the half hour that they had been sitting there, Lesedi had barely touched her food. Instead, she had been practically ranting to Kira, venting her frustration over her co-worker. 

Now it was time to eat while Kira voiced the issues plaguing her own mind. “I’m more concerned about this orb that was found on the Romulan ship,” She paused. “I don’t remember hearing anything about it growing up. And, I think I would have if it was widely known. I wouldn’t forget an orb like that.” She frowned and sipped her drink. “I think I’m going to talk to some Vedeks that I trust, have a history with.” Kira’s brow was furrowed in thought. “If this isn’t Bajoran and some kind of fraud, then we need to reveal that as soon as possible.” The Bajoran stated and looked at Lesedi. “It’d be best for both your cause and mine.”

Finished with her salad, Lesedi pushed it away and nodded. “That’s a good idea. You might get further with inquiries than any non-Bajoran staff. I’m sure Ross will want some digging around beforehand.” Kira nodded in agreement and then laughed, flattening her hand against her forehead.

“This really couldn’t have come at a better time,” Kira said once her brief laugh was over. “Weyoun is coming tomorrow and will be returning every other week to negotiate and improve Dominion relations with the Federation.” Just the thought made her sigh out loud. Though, if she was honest with herself, she suspected this much at least when she charged with the duty of dealing with him initially. It didn’t mean she liked it. 

Shaking her head, Kira rubbed her face and pushed all those thoughts away. She wanted to turn her mind to a more pleasant topic. 

“So, Ezri told me that she and Julian invited you and this friend of Julian’s to play tennis next week?” Kira grinned at Lesedi when the statement made the woman grin as well. “Uh huh. But, be careful, he’s trying to set you up.”


	7. Chapter Six

“How could you have forgotten it? Kazrell has been talking about meeting Lesedi for a week. We were there, waiting.” She looked at him and then down at her tennis outfit meaningfully. “We were dressed to play tennis and looking good, Julian!”   
  
Julian Bashir held up his hands in a surrendering fashion as the turbolift doors opened again for them. Ezri was right; she was in a tennis uniform. The white shirt and skirt went well against her fair skin and it made the spots on her neck stand out. He knew they disappeared beneath her shirt and, when he looked down, he could see them on her thighs and calves. Ezri wasn’t as tall as Lesedi but instead was about a head and a half shorter. Her uniform matched Ezri’s, except for the neckline, which was a boat neck and a collar for the Trill. Ezri’s figure was petite, like Lesedi, but unlike the dark skinned woman, her body wasn’t stretched out into elegant lines. Of course, he’d never tell Ezri about those observations, women tended to be sensitive and the last thing he wanted was her upset at him.    
  
Dax, as Jadzia and then as Ezri, had been in his life since her arrival on the station. Julian Bashir had worked too hard to get her attention, her affection and at the end of the war, he had finally got it. It would be a shame to lose it now because he didn’t notice the little things he should do. Little things like, for instance, not being late for a tennis match. Plus if they broke up, that meant that Quark might just have a shot. That scared him into looking at Ezri to try and make up for it.   
  
“I’m sorry,” The doctor apologized and tried to give her a boyish grin. He failed and she rolled her eyes at him. Clearing his throat, Julian looked off before sighing and looking back. “How about we have dinner tomorrow night to make up for it?” Giving her another grin, he took her hand and swung it. “It could be just the two of us, or we could invite Kazrell and Lesedi.” He offered, hoping to pacify her.   
  
Ezri relented to the grin on his face and kissed Julian. “Alright,” she smiled. “But you owe me.” Julian nodded and smiled as Ezri stepped out of the lift and onto the habitat ring. Watching her go, the doors started to shut again before an arm thrust through them only to be followed by the lithe and athletic body of Kira.   
  
“I almost didn’t make it,” The Bajoran muttered when she got in before calling for the promenade and glancing to the shamed doctor. “I thought you had a tennis match today?”   
  
Julian sighed and looked at her. “I got caught up with work. I’m working on a big project and…” He offered an innocent shrug. “I just lost track of time.” Honestly, it was like there was a giant calendar displayed somewhere on the station that showed everyone’s plans. There had to be, everyone knew everything. “And, I missed the match.”  
  
Beside him, Kira shook her head and smiled. “That’s why you set alarms Julian, notices to stop working, so you don’t upset your girlfriend.” He’d been chasing Dax for so long; Kira would’ve thought that he’d be more mindful. Then again, it had been a few years, perhaps he relaxed.  
  
“Julian, do you know of any virus that would cause a severe psychological shift in a population in a relatively quick amount of time?” Kira asked after a few moments, her mind on the conference Admiral Ross hosted. Turning to look at him, Kira saw the handsome, bronze-skinned doctor’s head turned up.   
  
Kira Nerys could see where this was going, especially with the discussions on religion currently taking place on Bajor. It was the orb’s fault and the orb didn’t belong on a ship. That could lead to an even less pleasant outcome, which was that orbs, temples, and other aspects belonging to the personal freedom of religion didn’t belong on ships or stations. Kira frowned as she thought about it. The sad thing was, she could now see that as a possible outcome. What would become of her station and how would life change for the Bajorans living on it?  
  
“There are some, yes. Though, I’d look at exposure to telepathic species as well.” He nodded and looked at her after answering her question. His answer drew her back quickly and she looked at him. “Sometimes, telepathic species can project their state onto others. Do you remember Lawaxana Troi’s visit and Zanthi Fever?” The doctor grinned at the memory, recalling it well. “That caused dramatic shifts in personality. But, without knowing what you are referring to, I can’t say for sure.” The doctor explained and, when the turbolift stopped, both of them stepped off.   
  
Julian turned to look at her. “If you are working on something, I’m happy to help. You and I could sit down and go through whatever it is or I can show you examples.” He offered with a helpful nod and smile.   
  
Thinking it over, she nodded. “Let me get back to you on that, I may just do it.” Of course, she would have to contact Admiral Ross about it, but Julian Bashir had been an important part of the war. Perhaps he would be helpful in this developing situation. “Are you going to be in your office today?”  
  
“No,” he shook his head. “Well, yes, but the next five or so hours are dedicated to hard work. I’ll be in my private office researching for that project I mentioned.” Julian explained and laughed some as he scratched his head. “I’ve even taken to locking the door and taking messages instead of answering calls.” The doctor admitted and shrugged. “But, the sooner I get it done, the better, right?”  
  
His dedication made Kira laugh. Except in extreme cases, she didn’t voluntarily put herself in seclusion like that and was almost envious of his dedication. She didn’t remember him being quite as dedicated in the past unless it was very important, but she supposed that whatever he was doing was important to him.   
  
“I could send you a message when I get done and we could meet?” The man suggested and offered her a friendly smile. Though, she shook her head. Weyoun had been on the station and on Bajor for a week now and she had been putting off a meeting with him. He’d be leaving the next afternoon, so she had a meeting with him the next morning. Weyoun was always somewhat unpleasant, but now he was just creepy and unpleasant, so it wasn’t a meeting she ever looked forward to.  
  
“That’s alright, I’ll just get hold of you and let you know.” Giving the doctor a slight nod of her head, Kira started down the curved stretch of the Promenade. For a moment, Bashir watched the back of her slender figure before he too broke off in the direction of the Infirmary.


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven  
  
While on his initial visit he hadn’t wanted to get so familiar with Kurill, Weyoun found himself continually drawn back to the planet, both for his plans and his personal need. It was a form of self-torture, he thought, as he listened to the howls between the lifeless buildings in the city. Thinking of the Connard home, he closed his eyes as the breeze whistled by the skeleton of the building he was standing in. It wasn’t just a breeze, but the moans of a planet mostly dead, groaning under the misery all the life felt before fading out.   
  
When he did surveys of the planet from space, he could see the vast damage done by the biological agents the Founders released. It wasn’t just the remaining Vorta, it was the wildlife too. It broke down the animals in much the same way and their bodies that laid on the ground seeped into the trees, grass, bushes and in turn passed along the curse to them. It had been universal; killing the Vorta wasn’t enough, they wanted to kill everything. The oceans seemed to have been hit the least, as well as a few islands. Weyoun had even taken a shuttle to the islands, foolishly hoping that some Vorta survived and, somehow over the generations, flourished and merely remained on the islands. Of course that was in vain as he could see the evidence there as well. Though, and this did please him, there seemed to be a marine population below a certain level, where the little mass murderers never reached. At least that was something.   
  
Turning his back to the dark landscape, Weyoun started down the stairs in the center of the building. As he descended into the underground labs, the condition gradually got better until finally, at the very bottom, it was perfect. Of course, Weyoun hadn’t found it that way and it had taken some work to get it in this shape. Entering his security code, Weyoun stepped in and easily transitioned through his various security measures until he was in the sophisticated lab. A wide, tall display was on one of the walls. Weyoun stepped up to it, looking at the current scene of Kurill, a seaside. It was littered with the bones of marine life that hadn’t been below the safe line. With his head tilted, he noted that at least one of the animals in the image was a large shark or whale.   
  
“You can’t keep me here, it is inhumane.” Turning, Weyoun looked to the angry male voice and offered a smile.  
  
“Why? You have a replicator for food, medical supplies, clothing, light, shelter. And, amusement, though I can see why you are not content.” The Vorta stated and tilted his head. “Doctor, you need to shave.”  
  
Julian Bashir distractedly rubbed his hand over the beard that was coming in. Weyoun was right; he needed to shave, but why? There was no one to see him except for Weyoun when he got updates via subspace. Over the last month, since he was kidnapped from Deep Space 9 and replaced by Odo, Weyoun had him here doing research. His fury towards the Vorta had been dulled when he reviewed the information Weyoun provided, but that didn’t mean that he liked being held hostage, even if he  could understand why, or at least why he thought, Weyoun was doing this.    
  
“What progress have you made, Doctor Bashir?” Weyoun asked patiently and approached one of the work stations. Bashir followed and pulled up a double helix of Vorta DNA, the image replacing the landscape on the bigger screen.  
  
“It would help if I had sample of unaltered Vorta DNA to compare to,” Julian had told Weyoun that every time, so he didn’t wait for an answer. “But I’ve been able to make a little progress. There are some clear artificial markers and those will be fairly easy.” He stated and shifted the screen to pinpoint one of them. While it looked meaningless to Weyoun, the doctor seemed to understand. “This set of markers dictates your sense of taste or, in your case, lack of.” Bashir explained to him, his tone slower as he concentrated. “The tricky part will be sorting out how they have you worshiping them from birth.” The doctor paused, the screen in front of him going still and reverting back to the slideshow before he looked at Weyoun. “How did you manage to fix all of this without the Founders noticing?” The question had been weighing on him since his arrival.  
  
For one full minute, Weyoun didn’t answer. His eyes were transfixed on the screen. Like on so many other occasions, Weyoun’s expression wasn’t quite readable; Bashir almost thought that he hadn’t heard him until Weyoun breathed in and began to speak.   
  
“The loyalty of the Jem’Hadar in part depends on White. When they are addicted, it guarantees loyalty. When you keep their tubes full of it and give them so much that they are utterly content, Jem’Hadar don’t tend to ask too many questions.” He gave a very slight shrug. “Even when the order seems….odd.”   
  
Bashir looked around, though he knew that there weren’t any Jem’Hadar there. There wasn’t anyone there to guard him, though the reason why was because there was no possible way he could get out. Oh, Julian had tried and had exhausted his genetically engineered brain in the process. He was a mouse in a glass box and the top was glued on. Until Weyoun decided it was time for him to go, only the Vorta could get in and out. “Where are the Jem’Hadar now, back on your ship?” He questioned and looked at Weyoun again.   
  
Weyoun looked at the doctor. “No, after I killed them, I transported their bodies to the park you see in these pictures.” Dismissing the deaths, Weyoun moved to another platform and studied the work the doctor was doing, seemingly oblivious to Julian’s expression.   
  
  
Of course, this wasn’t the first time Julian knew of a Vorta casually dismissing the lives of the Jem’Hadar. Keevan had done it with little regard for them, all in the name of saving his own hide. But, “You killed them? But, they did work for you, they did all of this. How could you so senselessly-“  
  
“Because, doctor, killing six Jem’Hadar drones whose mantra is ‘victory is life’ and literally live only to serve the Founders is by far not the worst thing I have ever done. They certainly are not innocent, Doctor Bashir. And, they died for a good reason, though I’m sure they’d disagree.” Violet eyes met Julian’s dark ones. “So doctor, why don’t you keep your idealistic, self-righteous Federation thinking to yourself and stop pretending that if you were in my position, you wouldn’t do the same thing.”   
  
While Weyoun’s voice stayed even and level, as if he were reciting text on a datapad, Julian caught the chill in it. The Vorta suddenly developed a conscious, as warped as it was, and didn’t like for it to be inferred that he was a heartless monster. That was the conclusion he was coming to, the one that those who weren’t intimately aware of the Vorta’s role in the Dominion thought. Even he had a hard time not feeling that the Vorta were somehow free of the Founders’ control and did what they did simply because they liked it. He knew it wasn’t true but when he thought of Keevan, and now Weyoun to an extent, they made it difficult to not come to that disturbing conclusion.   
  
“I’m going to need more samples from you, more blood.” Julian finally said after a long enough pause. He returned to another work station and once again called up the double helix.  
  
“Wouldn’t hair work? I don’t like you removing fluids from me.” Weyoun stated, though he rubbed over his arm anyway. He had asked that question before and the doctor’s reply had been that this was the best way. Wordlessly Bashir approached him, his hand extended with the hypo. It didn’t hurt, but Weyoun still winced when he saw it begin to fill up with dark blue blood as the Human extracted it from the vein in his arm.   
  
Soon enough it was done and, distractedly, Weyoun rubbed over his arm as he once again looked around. “Doctor, I hope you realize that dragging your feet or not accomplishing this task will not encourage me to give up and return you to Deep Space 9.” He said in a matter of fact way before dropping his arm. “I will keep you here, Doctor Bashir, until you solve my problem or until you die.” The statement was delivered dryly, though Weyoun did offer a very faint smile. “The loss of one more life doesn’t bother me. This task is too important to the Vorta race, to me, and to your Federation as well.”  
  
  
Julian didn’t doubt what Weyoun was saying. “Is it fair for me to die if I simply cannot do it?” The doctor questioned, but had a sinking suspicion that fairness wasn’t high on the Vorta’s list of behavioral priorities.   
  
“No,” He replied in a simple tone and walked away. “Do not mistake my lack of caring as malicious intent towards you or the Federation,” Weyoun said as he walked to the replicator. Placing an order, it lit up a moment before he turned back around. A white bowl was in his hand and in that were berries which were a rich purple color and reminded Julian of oversized blackberries. “I have no desire to harm you or the Federation, I’m merely using you for my own needs.”   
  
Watching Weyoun eat a berry, Julian wanted to tell him that his actions spoke louder than words. Kidnapping and holding someone hostage didn’t scream good will, but he said nothing.   
  
“I’m doing the best I can and working as fast as I can. There is a lot of genetic material to sift through and figure out what is modified, what isn’t, and make sure that I don’t change what you don’t want modified.” There were very few things that Weyoun didn’t want him to fix. He wanted the first generation of Vorta to retain their memories. He also wanted the first generation to still experience accelerated growth. Julian wasn’t sure what he was doing but, considering all the factors, he didn’t think it was a long term plan.   
  
  
“I sincerely hope you are a success, Doctor Bashir.”


	9. Chapter Eight

“I expected you to be more upset over this, Kira.”   
  
“The thought crossed my mind,” Kira Nerys stated then gave a small shrug. She regarded Admiral Ross from her desk, the desk that used to be Benjamin’s, and stood up to begin pacing. “But to tell you the truth, I’m not sure that I mind it being under the paranoid care of the Romulans.” She explained and, not for the first time in the conversation, habitually rubbed her neck.  
  
Nothing was ever easy with Romulans, but the Romulan Star Empire had finally agreed to return the strange, new orb to Bajor—though not without two Romulan ships delivering it. At first Kira was upset about this as it would’ve been easy enough to have a Federation ship meet them. However, without knowing anything about it, other than the fact that it was coincidentally on a ship whose crew was found dead, it seemed like the more security and fewer civilians was the better option.  
  
Pacing back and forth across the office, Kira didn’t notice Admiral Ross’ inquisitive expression until he spoke. “I thought you’d be more uncomfortable with having an artifact of Bajoran religion in the hands of anyone other than Bajorans, much less Romulans?” Kira shook her head, not taking offense at his phrasing of ‘artifact’, and sat down again.   
  
“I’m not entirely sure that it IS Bajoran.” Kira admitted to him before elaborating. “I’ve never heard of this before, and while I would gladly accept another gift from the Prophets…this doesn’t feel right.” She explained and frowned. Before Ross could reply, the communicator pinned to Kira’s chest chirped.  
  
“Kira here,”  
  
“We’re receiving a distress signal from the Romulan warbird Chu’tara.”  
  
“I want it on the viewer,” With quick strides, Kira walked out of her office and nodded towards the ensign who had reported it to her. Kira noticed Vorak, the Vulcan who was often Lesedi’s instigator, standing at one of the stations with Lesedi beside him. Filing away a discussion for later with her, Kira turned her attention to the eye shaped viewer as the bridge of the Chu’tara filled it.   
  
  
Apprehension was present on the middle-aged, male captain’s face as distress lines, made by (Kira only assumed) failing equipment on their end of the communication, waved over the screen.   
  
“Major Kira,” Recognition and relief registered on the Romulan’s face. “We are going to be delayed in reaching Deep Space 9. We are encountering….difficulties aboard ship.”  
  
“I can see that,” Kira replied, her brows coming together.   
  
“Similar occurrences have been happening to what was reported on the last ship carrying this orb. We are trying to compensate by placing infected individuals under guard,”   
  
Kira’s attention shifted from the Romulan speaking to the one coming up behind him. She walked upright, each step choppy as if she wasn’t consciously aware that she was walking. Her hair was somewhat out of place, something odd for a Romulan, and her eyes were focused and intense on her captain, as if she were trying to bore two holes in the back of his head. Kira opened her mouth but before the words escaped, she saw the woman’s green clad arm lift, a glint of silver, and then forcibly the woman threw all her weight into her violent attack.  
  
“YOU ARE A DISHONOR!”   
  
Out of her peripheral vision, Kira vaguely noticed the ensign closest to her visibly flinch and move back as the woman’s shrill voice, filled with fury, mixed with the gruesome scene on the viewer. The captain was flat on his stomach in front of his chair, the woman predatorily over him as she repeatedly plunged the knife into his back. Even now Kira could never get used to the way blood behaved when it was so violently disturbed and released from the body.  
  
The bridge crew, what was left of them, jumped into action and one tackled her to the ground, but before the eerily silent Ops could do more, the transmission was cut, replaced instead by a view of the serene stars outside.   
  
“Ensign Pak,” Kira reached out and touched the ensign’s forearm. The younger woman stirred and looked to Kira, her mouth slightly open before she shook her head, cleared her throat, and composed herself. “Contact the other ship. Find out if they saw that, if they cut the transmission, and what they are going to do.”   
  
While Pak had buckled under seeing the horrific murder aboard the Romulan ship, Kira was impressed with her ability to get information out of the Chu’tara’s sister ship. They were responsible for cutting the ship’s transmission, something Kira was actually grateful for, and was currently flooding the ship with a gas that would render Romulans unconscious.  
  
“Inform them that our medical bay would be happy to assist with the survivors,” Kira paused “as a matter of fact, insist on it.”  
  
  
  
An hour later Kira, Admiral Ross, Vorak and Lesedi all stood in front of Doctor Bashir, whose attention was on the datapadd in front of him as well as the people watching him expectantly.   
  
“Physically, there’s nothing that would cause this psychosis.” He began and paused, his eyes going from face to face, before he looked back down at his datapadd. “However each of them are behaving as if they’ve lived through a traumatic event that they cannot cope with.” Julian explained to them before leading the small group to one of the bio-beds in the corner.  
  
A guard stood near the wall; however, the Romulan officer, the officer who killed the captain, had pressed herself in the corner with her back against the wall and legs drawn up against her. Distrustful dark eyes flickered, watching as they got to the end of the bio-bed and looked at her. Her eyes fixed on Vorak and narrowed, but the woman herself didn’t move and the rest of her face remained hidden by her arm.  
  
“As soon as she stirred, she got in the corner and hasn’t moved since. She’s just been rocking and muttering something.” Julian hesitated and shook his head. “The translators are at a loss and I don’t quite know that I am hearing her correctly.” His brows drew together briefly before he looked up at the group of four whose interest was currently caught by the patient. Vorak looked at him.  
  
“What has she been repeating?” Vorak questioned the doctor evenly, though his usual stoic face did bare a slight frown. The Vulcan took two tentative steps forward and the woman pressed even further into the corner. Immediately Vorak stopped and turned his head, looking to Bashir.  
  
Breathing in deeply, Bashir looked to his datapadd, confirming that the word was correct, and looked back to the tan Vulcan who made the silent inquiry. “She’s saying, as far as I can tell, ll-air.” Julian told him and looked back to the poor woman. Vorak’s attention also shifted back to her and, while the shift in his mood was subtle, his body language stiffened and he fully filled his lungs before saying anything else.   
  
“Llaihr. It is an old Rihannsu word.” He began to slowly explain after he stepped away again and turned to the group. “It doesn’t translate into English simply. It is death, death by chaos, by unnatural means and senseless.”   
  
  
  
“Nerys,” Kira looked to Admiral Ross after the small group left the Romulan patients. “I have to go clean this up.” Giving him a nod that she understood, Kira watched him leave. Vorak followed as did Lesedi after a murmured promise to get together later.   
  
Nerys didn’t even turn when they filed out. Though, after several moments, she looked at Bashir. “Can we talk?” Giving her a brief nod, Bashir left his datapadd with a nurse and started to his office. Life once again resumed in the infirmary as nurses checked on the unconscious forms. A member of security worked on extracting the mentally unstable woman from the corner while Lesedi and Vorak quietly left.  
  
“Can you do anything for her?” Kira asked once she was in the Julian’s office and sat down. She regarded the tan skinned doctor as a frown etched in his face and he too sat in his chair across his desk.   
  
“I’m afraid not. There’s nothing medicine can do alone, only therapy—a lot of therapy and close doctor supervision.” The frown deepened and he shook his head. “The Romulans are already planning to transport the patients over, I don’t know what will happen then.” Kira was silent for several long moments, deep in thought and oblivious to Bashir’s gaze.  
  
“I don’t like this,” Kira confessed and looked at the human sitting across from her. “This could be really bad for Bajor if everyone thinks an orb did that.”


	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter 09  
Racktijino. It was right up there with blood wine and cloaking devices on the list of things Klingons got right. Kira smiled into the cup that she was polishing off, an involuntary moan emitting from the center of her throat.   
  
“As a doctor I should tell you that it isn’t healthy to get so much joy out of something that probably isn’t that good for you.” Kira looked up and smiled at the doctor across from her. Between them was a stack of five datapadds. One of the five was the diagnosis on the woman patient who survived the Romulan ship. The others were articles that the doctor had provided her with explaining psychological traumas so that Kira might better understand the orb. She wasn’t a doctor or a therapist. And, she wasn’t a vedek. She still didn’t understand what caused it, only that a disorder was now there.   
  
“As station’s commander I should tell you not to mess with a woman and her chocolate.” Putting aside the empty cup, she picked up the article from the top of the pile. “This does make sense. I didn’t encounter anyone who was affected quite so severely during the Occupation, but the mental and emotional wounds inflicted on people were there all the same. I just don’t understand how an orb could’ve done this.”  
  
Tilting his head, Bashir looked at the diagnosis. “Well you have to keep in mind that this isn’t like other orbs. Nothing about it is like them other than the shape and size.” Julian replied, his voice a soft murmur as he read something from the padd.  
  
“But that’s the only thing that would’ve caused it. I just wish it was something else. I mean, I’m disturbed that this has happened, but did it really have to be something mimicking an orb? Doesn’t Bajor deserve a decade of…” she sighed, knowing that that wasn’t really fair. Kira couldn’t expect the universe to give them a break and, while it frustrated her, she did take some comfort in knowing that there was a reason for it, otherwise the Prophets wouldn’t continue to allow things to happen. They survived the Occupation and then the Dominion War. Bajor could survive some dark shadow in the shape of an orb.  
  
“Aren’t you supposed to meet Ezri for racquet ball?” Shaking off those unpleasant thoughts, Kira put them aside for another time and smiled at the doctor. Her grin widened some at the way his eyes grew in surprise and then at the groan the doctor gave.   
  
Shaking his head, he started gathering up his lunch. “I forgot all about that.” He admitted with a sheepish little smile. “I promised my lunch hour to her and just lucked out that I had a meeting with you beforehand.” Putting his tray back in his office replicator, he disposed of it before doing the same to her finished tray and racktijino cup.   
  
Kira smiled and got to hr feet before gathering up the articles to study later. “That’s fine, I have to get out of here anyway. There’s a whole station outside of these doors, no matter how much I don’t like it sometimes.” Giving the doctor a brief goodbye, Kira walked out with the datapadds in between her hands. Taking a moment outside of the Infirmary, she used it to survey the crowd on the Promenade. She’d seen it busier before, but there was still a healthy number of officers, traders and other civilians creating flows along the curved structure. Suppressing a smile that threatened to tug at the corner of her mouth, Kira set her head and began her stroll towards Ops.  
  
A head, bulbous-like and with a waxy orange-brown appearance bobbed below the surface of heads behind Kira as she swiftly cut through the current. Kira did hear Quark’s unique voice as he attempted to do the same weaving and pushing as Kira did. Despite her attempt to out-walk him, Kira heard Quark’s ‘Major!’ quite clearly and could no longer feign unawareness. Stopping at the lift, she turned and looked down at the Ferengi.  
  
“Practicing for a race, Major?” Quark questioned, his hand on his stomach as he stepped on the lift when Kira indicated that he go first.   
  
When the doors shut, she glanced at him. “Apparently I need more practice, what is it?”  
  
Having recovered, he glanced meaningfully to the doors. “Perhaps we should make sure no one walks in?” With a sigh, Kira called for the lift to halt mid-way before looking at him expectantly. “I wanted to bring something to your attention that I….ahem, overheard, quite accidentally of course.” He paused briefly, expecting a reprimand for snooping but continued when none was forthcoming.   
  
“I was walking on the habitat ring before I heard Doctor Bashir talking. Normally I’d ignore it, he never has anything interesting to gossip about, and then I heard himself refer to himself in the third person. He was asking someone how Doctor Bashir’s progress was coming along. Naturally this got my attention so I stopped and listened. He was talking to Weyoun, Major.” Quark told her, his pause, she assumed, was to allow it to sink in. And, it wasn’t something that sounded good.   
  
A frown came over her face and she looked at him again. “Is there anything else, Quark?”  
  
The Ferengi nodded. “Weyoun told him that progress was coming along fine and then asked how he was doing here. Weyoun asked Julian Bashir how he was doing here.” While Kira didn’t pretend to understand how a Ferengi’s mind worked, she could imagine the thoughts going through his head.   
  
“Stop jumping to conclusions Quark. Computer, resume lift,” Kira was silent after the soft affirmative chirp and feeling of it continuing on an upward track again. “Thank you for the information, Quark. Is there anything else I can do for you?” She asked after a few moments and looked to him as the lift slowed again.  
  
Quark gave her a cheeky grin. “Well I did just get in this latest edition of the Vulcan Love Slave program. There’s this really great red leather number in it that you’d look—“  
  
Kira made a sound in the back of her throat and halted his statement with her hand. Stepping out she walked into Ops and towards her office to make a call and drop off the datapadds.  
  
  
  
Kira’s boots made angry, muted thuds on the promenade with every step that brought her closer to the security office. It had not occurred to her that Quark might’ve been lying; the Ferengi bartender was many things, but overly stupid wasn’t one of them. Though, she really didn’t want to believe that Doctor Bashir would have anything nefarious to do with Weyoun and the Dominion. Shaking her head, she just couldn’t find a reasonable explanation for why the good Doctor and Weyoun would be engaged in some secret conversation, especially one as suspicious as what Quark related to her.   
  
Reaching the security office, she didn’t stop at the desk. Instead, the Bajoran lieutenant, Rahmn Lana, stood and wordlessly began to follow her. It wasn’t until then that Kira stopped and regarded her. “No need Lieutenant. I’ll call you if I need you.” Continuing back, Kira didn’t stop until she was stood, her legs shoulder width apart, in front of the two adjacent cells containing Bashir and Weyoun.  
  
“You’re probably wondering what you are doing here,” Kira began, moving her attention from one to the other. Weyoun looked annoyingly collected, but there was something familiar about Bashir. While she couldn’t place where she recognized it from, his body was rigid and his face taunt in an expression of hesitation and something else. “I have it from a reliable witness,”  
  
“Quark,”  
  
“Yes, Quark,” Kira resumed, ignoring the doctor’s irritated mutter. “That you two have been meeting in secret and that you have a mutual interest in genetic research. Don’t you think there are enough secrets floating around on this station on a daily basis, doctor? Do you really have to add to them with a Dominion ambassador?” Kira snapped at him, her agitation clear. She again looked between the two men. Weyoun’s demeanor changed, shifting from cool collectiveness to slightly less confident and concerned.   
  
“Do you trust her?” Weyoun’s head was turned to the doctor’s cell as he said this and Kira also looked at Bashir, whose eyes were focused on her face.   
  
“Unequivocally” the simple question and one word answer momentarily stalled her anger, replacing it instead with a confusion that was very brief.  
  
Kira watched as Julian Bashir’s handsome, tan human features began to shift, becoming molten like golden molasses until nothing but an undefined, gold humanoid form stood before her. He, she or it reformed slowly into a thinner figure, though the same height. Mustard yellow replaced the blue and black of a Starfleet uniform and instead of Doctor Bashir’s features, muted beige, golden eyes and slicked back light hair finally solidified into Odo.  
  
All the doubts Kira had allowed to develop since he left came back to her suddenly and felt foolish. While she knew she should be furious and maybe a bit worried, nothing but relief and joy rushed her. Kira breathed in and rubbed over her forearm because of the chicken skin that suddenly spread there and over the rest of her body.   
  
“I think I should sit down.”  
  
  
  
It took him and Odo a good hour to explain the Founders’ true feelings about their future with the Federation and then about Weyoun’s plan to do something about it. Weyoun would’ve been surprised if Kira had been surprised at this news, but it seemed that the former resistance fighter knew better than to fully trust a former enemy. Perhaps there was hope yet for the peace loving Federation, though he seriously doubted it if, in the next few minutes, they didn’t sway the Major.   
  
“Major,” Weyoun hesitated briefly. “I am not oblivious to your situation. Now that you know, it is a great inconvenience to you.”  
  
“It became a great inconvenience when you kidnapped my doctor, Weyoun.” Weyoun resisted a frustrated sigh at her reply and was grateful when Odo resumed talking to his former lover, thus saving him the trouble. Perhaps he could make her understand how important it was, for the Federation and the Vorta, for his plan to work.    
  
“Nerys, I realize that this puts you in a terrible position, but if this works, then the Founders will not be able to hurt the Federation for a very, very long time.” Listening to Odo, Weyoun marveled at his ability to sound sincere. No, he didn’t just sound sincere, he WAS sincere. That was something the other Founders were unable to mimic for their ‘allies’. But, they had the promise of overwhelming power, did they really need sincerity?  
  
Taking her silence as his queue, Weyoun reinforced Odo’s statement. “My plan will not fail, Major. Even if it did, the Federation is blameless. We are not asking you to take action, merely…turn a blind eye.” He was careful to make his tone encouraging and soft, hopefully solicit her cooperation. The corners of his lips tilted down ever so slightly when he noticed that her expression only darkened.   
  
“You have terrible timing, Weyoun,” her voice sounded weary to him and Weyoun couldn’t blame her. A responsibility she wasn’t even supposed to know about had just been placed at her feet. Ignorance was bliss; this was something he understood perhaps better than anyone else. “Right now powerful Federation officials are really unhappy about those who whole heartedly follow the Prophets and serve Starfleet. And,” she gave a heavy sigh. This wasn’t the first time that he noticed the stress lines on her face. Weren’t they aesthetically unattractive? “They might just have the proof they need to cement the argument.”  
  
She didn’t say anymore and Weyoun didn’t push the point. Instead, he stepped as close to the force field as he could. “And, that is why it is all the more important that we never discussed this. You’ve got your hands full, Major Kira. If my plan works, this will not burden you—anymore than it already has.”


	11. Chapter Ten

His arrival back to the Gamma Quadrant came with with pleasure as Weyoun realized that Bashir had completed, begrudgingly, the task that he had been forced to do. His genetically engineered brain had identified all of the changes made to the Vorta DNA. He was able to change them as well, just as Weyoun was sure he would’ve been able to do. With the doctor and that information, the trip to the facility he had selected was brief. It was funny, they were so close to home, the ruins of their past and evidence of Founder lies, and they didn’t go because they simply weren’t told to. 

Weyoun watched the progress of the two clones on the screen. Sheena was beside him, monitoring it with the efficiency of any good little Vorta who was given a task. And, she was good at her job, Weyoun observed as she expertly handled any caution blips that appeared on the monitor. ‘No clone was made without some complication, it is the nature of cloning,’ Sheena had told him five hours ago, when the process started. That was why they needed to be monitored constantly.

“The process is complete on my clone; the line you requested will be complete soon. His natural abilities are superior to my own.” Sheena’s eyes were the typical Vorta lavender, though they were naturally larger and Weyoun likened them to a terran almond shell tilted inward. They went well with her diamond-shaped face and the way her ears sloped into thick dark hair. He thought she might’ve been beautiful. Even if in that moment, anxiety clouded her face. 

The doctor occupied himself by studying a read out, Weyoun ignored him and moved behind her and peered over Sheena. “Very good,” he nodded slowly and looked down at her. It wasn’t often that he was taller than someone else—Vorta were designed to appear smaller, timid and non-threatening. They were much like spiders. Looking ahead, he breathed in deeply and steeled himself.

“Forgive me,” Weyoun whispered softly. With a quick motion, his arm went around Sheena’s shoulders and he pinned her to him. Weyoun’s moves were fluid as he lifted his weapon of choice, a slender, elegant tool that was long and tapered into a spike, and drove it into her temple. Sheena’s gasp was audible and for just a moment, her hands formed claws on his forearm before her body relaxed against his own. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Sheena’s last breath did not go unnoticed by the doctor. Weyoun barely had the body rested on the ground before Bashir pushed him out of the way and was examining her. It was too late; as soon as the simple but effective weapon penetrated her brain, the transfer had begun and finished before her heart stopped beating. 

Weyoun stepped back and pressed his hand over his chest. Seven hours ago, when he’d first walked into this smaller cloning facility, Weyoun hadn’t anticipated feeling anything for killing another clone. He’d done it before in service of the Founders, why should he feel uneasy about doing it in service of his species? Yet, Weyoun had to force his breathing steady again. By the time Bashir’s angry eyes met his own, he still wasn’t totally sure that he was under control. Bashir stood and approached him, Weyoun involuntarily took a step back. “You didn’t have to kill her for doing your dirty deeds!”

“Doctor,” his voice was slightly shaky, but Weyoun was quick to regain some of his composure. “Did you honestly think that I went to all the trouble of kidnapping you, replacing you and having you work on Vorta genetics because I was bored?” Weyoun’s tone was belittling, though his heart wasn’t in it and it lacked a certain bite. Pocketing the weapon and leaving Bashir to follow him if he chose, Weyoun went down to the cloning pod Sheena, new and with the changes, would be in now. 

With a towel and white robe on his arm, Weyoun waited inside the archway and watched the liquid within the pod swirl. The pod its self was soft white, a sharp contrast to the darkly tinted, bulging front portion. Above the warm environment that nurtured the Vorta, two flat arms spread and disappeared into the wall. Below the body of the pod, two others disappeared into the floor, which was slightly bowl shaped beneath it. 

The sound of breathing reached his ears and Weyoun felt the warmth of another humanoid. Bashir stood beside him and, with the doctor watching, a soft hiss gradually grew louder. Finally, the lid popped up just slightly and the liquid within began draining out. Slowly the bottom of the pod changed shape and the space between the lower legs became more canal-like as a pale and trembling body slipped out with the remaining liquid. The liquid, something of a somewhat syrupy nature, drained into slots within the floor. 

“It’s a messy business, birthing Vorta.” Weyoun murmured to the human beside him. It was ironic, they were designed and put into production like packages on a shelf, yet the Founders made the pods womb-like so the clone, in the first moments of consciousness with a new body, would know that their parents were also their gods. Weyoun pondered this a brief moment. Perhaps the Founders should have studied the nature of solids: some people shouldn’t be parents.

Leaving the doctor at the archway, Weyoun approached the figure as she purged her lungs of fluid. He watched as she wiped the protein-based gel from her face and slowly, shakily got to her feet. “I’ve brought you a towel and a robe. There is food-“

Weyoun’s body tumbled back and both Vorta fell to the ground, Sheena’s nails dragged down the side of his face and for a moment, Weyoun was dazed from his head colliding with the floor. “You KILLED me! How dare you!” Grabbing her wrists, Weyoun managed to stop her attempts to return the favor in kind.

“Why did the Founders lose the war?” Confusion flickered over Sheena’s features and the woman momentarily stopped her struggling. Taking advantage of the situation, Weyoun pushed her onto her back and easily mounted the woman. For modesty (as he knew that would be an issue now), he haphazardly covered her body with the towel.

When Sheena demanded that he get up, Weyoun silently obeyed and began wiping off the protein gel as she quickly dressed herself in the robe. His eyes turned to the doctor and he gave the tanned human a less than friendly look. “You know, you could’ve helped.” 

“Oh, oh me? Well, you seemed to have things under control.” Weyoun actually sneered at the doctor’s feigned innocence and silently, both men followed Sheena out.

 

“If I had thought you would believe me, I wouldn’t have killed you….I would’ve let you do it yourself.” Weyoun surprised even himself with the gentle tone in his voice. She would be one of the precious few who would be the parents of the Vorta. In one thousand years, Sheena would be praised for freeing the Vorta from their slavery. Her children, and their children, and the children after that would experience life in a way that his species had been denied for far too long.

“…what Vorta would believe that the Founders aren’t gods?” Weyoun didn’t hear the first part of her comment, but he didn’t have to in order to know that his effort wasn’t in vain; Sheena sounded tired, but reasonable. Her eyes were on the progress of the next clone as Sheena absently picked up a ripple berry. She popped it in her mouth and Weyoun had to suppress a grin at the instant reaction. Her face puckered and, seeming unwilling to spit it out, Sheena chewed and swallowed the tart berry quickly. “Shu sa’ve!” This time his lips did twitch up into a smile at the softly hissed swear word. Sheena shook her head and pushed the berries to him. “Never mind, I’m done eating.”

Together, the two approached the observation window that overlooked levels of cloning chambers. Despite having been clean, dry and warm for a few hours, Sheena still had her arms around herself. Weyoun wasn’t surprised and resisted the urge to touch a hand to her back as the walked. No doubt she was still in shock. It wasn’t every day that a Vorta went from genetically inclined slave to freed liberator.

Weyoun looked at her. “How many do you think you can clone without raising suspicion?” The facility had 150 pods and it took between five and twelve hours to do a clone, depending on if there were complications.

“I don’t know,” a frown came across her face as she studied her export orders. “I can do….twenty a week. I think I can write off that much material and protein gel without getting any extra attention.” Weyoun’s eyes met hers and he nodded. “I will be able to return at least twice a month. You should be able to use the housing left by natives of this planet. It’ll take some fixing up, but the facilities are livable.” Sheena nodded in agreement and breathed in before looking to another screen.

“He’s ready, Weyoun.”

 

Again Weyoun stood in the archway of a cloning chamber and watched as this Vorta, taller than Sheena but slender like her, eased out and purged his lungs of the liquid oxygen featured in the gel. Once he was standing, Weyoun stepped forward and tossed a towel at him. 

“Keevan, I expect you didn’t plan wake up again.” Despite Weyoun’s change of heart and his plan to free his race, he couldn’t keep a certain tone if distaste from his voice from his worthy adversary. Keevan would enjoy his betrayal.

 

Keevan wiped the gel from his face and focused his eyes on Weyoun. He looked sharper, clearer and-

“Weyoun, you look older.” The smile that stretched over Keevan’s face was lazy and arrogant, much like his tone. Casually and without Sheena’s modesty, Keevan continued wiping himself down. 

“When you are through,” Keevan looked up at Weyoun expectantly when he spoke. He mirrored Weyoun’s false smile. “I have a proposition for you and all you have to do is do what the Keevan line does best. Betray the Founders.” Tilting his head, Keevan listened as Weyoun explained his role in the Alpha Quadrant and what Keevan would be doing to prepare for the arrival of the others. Slowly, Keevan smiled.

(There are two transitions here and the last one is an intentional shift to Keevan’s point of view. Keevan will be featured more often and will become more important to the story by the end.)


	12. Chapter Eleven

Meticulously, Weyoun adjusted his tunic as Kira stepped out of the meeting with himself and Odo. Odo being there was something he was grateful for; Kira listened to Odo easier than she listened to him. That became more apparent to him throughout the meeting and he was that much more confident in his choice to bring Odo into the fold. His whole plan would’ve been so much easier without Major Kira or the Federation being involved, though what was done was done and he couldn’t change it. All he could do, all he would do, was use the situation to his advantage.   
  
Kira’s prompt return made Weyoun turn his gaze from space outside and back into the room. Weyoun didn’t speak until Kira was seated at the table and he once again had her attention. Sitting down himself, he offered her a smile before pushing a datapadd in her direction.  
  
“I have allies in the Dominion. An ally, rather, who is assisting in increasing our numbers. Her name is Sheena.” Her name was irrelevant to Kira, but Weyoun felt compelled to say it nonetheless. The Vorta had always simply been ‘a diplomat’ or ‘a Vorta’. They remained nameless slaves of the Dominion. Sheena was an individual; she deserved to be recognized as such. “It isn’t necessary that you know about our movements across the wormhole—I’m sure the less you know, the better.” It would interfere with their Federation morals somehow, he was sure.  
  
The Vorta paused and indicated to the data on the padd now in front of her. “You’ll see my movement plans, the number of people that’ll be coming through your station-“  
  
“And going where?” Kira interrupted and Weyoun watched her gaze go to his own. The Bajoran shook her head. “You can’t expect us to house so many Vorta. Look at these numbers! Deep Space 9 is only so big and what? You plan for them to go to Bajor? Yes, I’m sure that’ll go over well.” Weyoun frowned. Despite the fact that Kira’s mood had improved since the arrival of Odo, that good mood didn’t seem to extend to his plans. That was fine, he didn’t need her to like them; he just needed her to allow them to happen.  
  
  
“Is your little station so full of Starfleet officers and pitcher-eared Ferengi that you can’t handle a few Vorta?” Kira’s head snapped up and she twisted toward the silky voice. Keevan stepped into the room and let the door shut behind him. Weyoun watched quietly as Keevan walked over and joined him and Kira at the table.   
  
“I might’ve known that you’d come into the mix. It seems like Weyoun had the least work to do with you. You already betrayed the Founders.”   
  
Keevan’s lips stretched into a cool smile as he regarded the Major. “It is fortunate that you managed to evade capture during the Occupation, Major.” Keevan offered her a smile that was almost sweet. “Otherwise, with a mouth like that, you wouldn’t have survived to grace us with your presence today.” His tone remained sweet, sickeningly so, and Keevan’s smile turned somewhat satisfactory at seeing the Bajoran’s subtle, though angered, reaction. He was a good actor, but even Keevan couldn’t keep it to himself that he enjoyed terrorizing her. She and the famed Sisko lent him to the Ferengi, who killed him. While dying at the hands of the waxy faced accountants undoubtedly saved him from an unhappy existence, he wouldn’t easily forget her role in it.   
  
“Now that that is out of the way,” Keevan smiled to everyone at the table. “I’m sure you want your doctor back! I admit, I’ll be happy to be rid of him. People complain that us Vorta are chatty, they obviously don’t know him.” Of course, Bashir hadn’t been chatty. He had seemed rather relieved to be back on Deep Space 9 and the whole way there he hadn’t cared to engage either of his Vorta companions in conversation. But, lying was a skill one needed to practice regularly in order to keep it sharp.  
  
When Weyoun suggested that the meeting adjourned, Kira readily agreed. Keevan assumed that it was because she wanted to interrogate—or question, the Federation didn’t interrogate, her doctor. The Major and Odo left, though not after a warning from the Federation officer. She’d have to tell Admiral Ross, Kira had told them as she leaned over a chair a final time. This was too big to keep between them, she noted, and the Major and the Changeling were gone.   
  
Keevan watched Weyoun stand and walk around the table to sit in front of him. “Are you sure that rekindling your relationship with Major Kira by insulting her is wise?”  
  
“Kira Nerys would be all the more suspicious if I didn’t open with insinuating that she doesn’t know how to keep herself in check. I was establishing normalcy. If I honestly wanted to make her angry, I could’ve told her what she could do with her mouth instead.” Keevan gave a somewhat cheeky smile. “But, I am not in the mood to visit Doctor Bashir again so soon.”  
  
Keevan felt gratified at the other Vorta’s huff and how he made a point to ignore his comment. Weyoun was always too uptight, too…pro-duty. Once upon a time Keevan held the Founders above his own survival, but that had changed long before he fell into Federation custody. Up until he met Sisko and his lot on that planet, it was simply in his best interest to worship and serve the Founders. It was true, he supposed, that they had to do the least work on him as he was already ‘defective’.  
  
“This is a suitable M-class planet. The location isn’t optimal, however it will provide protection.” Keevan took the datapadd that Weyoun pushed to him. An image filled with brilliant ambers, thick semi-transparent greens and dots of white light that pushed through it all filled the screen. In the center of it was a planet and he recognized the area of space from star charts.  
  
“You’re right, the Briar Patch will provide some cover, assuming we can get there safely.” Keevan replied after getting over the initial appreciation he had at the fatal beauty of the visual.  
  
“It isn’t permanent,” Weyoun continued. Keevan looked at him and sat the datapadd down. “But, it will be generations before we are a strong presence. You and I will not see that day, but we must lay the groundwork for it. Once the Dominion are gone, we can look for some place else, but until they are no longer a threat, and we do not have to worry about retaliation for our role in the war…the Briar Patch is safe.”   
  
Keevan nodded in agreement. They were of one mind (which was scary in its self) on the matter. “The Briar Patch it is.”   
  
For a moment both Vorta regarded each other, the gravity of the situation hadn’t been lost on either man. The subjects were forsaking their gods and more than that, they were leaving the promise land. Keevan looked down first and looked over the information once again.   
  
“Have you spoken to the Federation about this? The Briar Patch is in their territory. They will not appreciate our colonization.”  
  
“That’s your job.” Keevan’s eyes met his quicker and with more sharpness than he would’ve liked. Raising his brows slightly, he sat back and folded his arms.  
  
“Come again?”  
  
There was a pause before Weyoun continued. “While I am observing our interests in the Gamma Quadrant, you will be here managing them. It will be necessary for you to have a relationship and yes Keevan, a tolerance for Federation politics. Now is as good a time as any to start building that. In the meantime, we’ll both be searching for a more permanent settlement.”   
  
The Briar Patch was truly temporary, then. Keevan grudgingly began forming plans of his own concerning a permanent settlement. Just because they would be in the Briar Patch didn’t meant that they couldn’t build a home somewhere else. There were those Vorta whose entire purpose was to create and build. They could put them to work, a small group of them, at their non-existent new home. By the time they would move, they would have a head start.   
  
Sighing, he nodded. “Alright, fine Weyoun.” He didn’t like it, but Keevan would accept the role. He much preferred to let others do the work while he enjoyed the spoils of it, but it seemed that those days were over.   
  
With a schedule to keep, Weyoun left Keevan in the meeting room to his thoughts. The Vorta crossed his arms again and went to the window to gaze out at the stars, towards the wormhole. A human ditty came unexpectedly to his mind. He couldn’t help but think that it was somehow fitting. Thoughtfully he gazed towards the wormhole: towards the Founders and added his own spin.  
  
“Humpty-dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty-Dumpty had a great fall. But, when he cried for all his horses and all his men, he stayed there alone, sad and broken until he met his end.”


	13. Chapter Twelve

Weyoun watched as two Vorta worked on installing a field dampener in the cargo bay. Both Vorta were male and they had full, dark hair. It was a touch longer than what he preferred, but the fact thrilled him. It was a mark of individuality—more so even than the bickering shared between the two men. From his location he could hear their conversation and the way they would seamlessly share the role of antagonist with one another. It was all in jest, he could tell because there was no true aggression behind what they were saying. And, they were working more efficiently together than they ever would have as servants of the Dominion.  
  
“Those two are fun,” Turning, he looked at Sheena, who had moved to stand beside him. She smiled to him and he smiled back before looking at the Vorta again. “Their names are Kalem and Talness. They…are like brothers and have already managed to make a lot of progress with the mechanical part of our living arrangements.” When Sheena touched his sleeve, he followed her out of the cargo bay. It would be another four hours before the sensors were installed, tested and pronounced ready to go. Weyoun had exhausted himself on making every possible excuse to get back to the cloning facility and to Sheena, so when he finally was able to make it, a month had passed with Keevan alone in the Alpha Quadrant and Sheena operating on her own here. She wasn’t helpless, a fact that impressed him, and had made enough clones to create temporary residences around the facility.   
  
“It was my intention to take back a small compliment of Vorta when I return, but Admiral Ross wasn’t as receptive as I hoped. Though, I cannot blame it on Keevan’s negotiating abilities, as much as I’d like to.” Weyoun told Sheena as they arrived in her quarters. She had already asserted her individuality there. Lamps with soft lights sat against the walls, which had been painted some light shade of brown. Her furniture was a darker shade of it and comfortably overstuffed. Weyoun had read that the colors were complimentary of one another, though his appreciation of it went scarcely farther than that.  
  
“But,” he continued after making himself comfortable. “I’m confident that the plan will work, with or without his willing cooperation. Firstly, it would be against their idealistic ideology to eject the Vorta out of airlocks. They will have to relocate us. We have a plan for that already and even if we didn’t, we’re providing intelligence on the Dominion.” Weyoun stated and shrugged some before he looked at Sheena, who had curled up on the other end of the couch and was watching him.  
  
“I’m not concerned about it,” Sheena finally stated and offered a smile. “Your confidence in yourself may waiver from time to time, but mine in you doesn’t. You weren’t regarded as one of their best servants without reason.  
  
“None of us can remember Kurill. I don’t know if we were supposed to, I don’t quite understand how that part works.” She continued after a moment and looked at him. “Tell me about it. What was it like? Did we worship gods or nothing at all? Were we a race of artists, scientists? Technicians?” Sheena stood up and sat in front of him on the edge of a low-sitting table. One of her knees rested between his and her elbows dug into her thighs. The position was a vulnerable one for him but as Weyoun looked at her face, he closed his eyes briefly and embraced the feeling.   
  
“It was…progressive.” He began as he sorted out what he wanted to tell her and what he didn’t. “The vegetation was green, but it had a blue hue to it and there was a lot of it. In the cities, progress and man-made structures blended with nature in such a way that if you needed to take a walk and found it to be comforting, you could. I would have my lunch in the park. It wasn’t particularly aesthetically pleasing of course, but it was quiet. There were birds in the trees, too.” He paused and looked at his hands over his knees.   
  
“I lived in a residential area that was relatively close to the center of the city. It wasn’t so close that I felt crowded, but it wasn’t too far away either. The house leaned more towards natural décor and was filled with colors most associated with nature.” Weyoun didn’t mention Rujhah or Mah’lel. They were a private part of him and, as much as he felt he could tell Sheena, Weyoun kept their memory to himself.  
  
“We had vehicles that took us around. Some of them were smaller and seated two or four people; others were larger and ran on electric tracks. They would hold so many people and had large windows so one could observe the city as it travelled.”  Weyoun stopped in his description and looked at Sheena.  
  
She had an odd look on her face, one that he couldn’t claim to have seen directed at him before. She had pulled his hands to hers and sat holding them; one of her delicate thumbs brushed his palm lightly. “It sounds like it was beautiful.” Sheena finally stated, quietly. The next question was the one Weyoun was afraid that she’d asked before he even began the description.   
  
“Can I see it?” He shook his head at her soft question and rattled off some excuse about being unable to justify such a detour and that it would raise suspicion. It was a lie, and judging by the look she gave him with her intensely perceptive eyes, Sheena didn’t believe it.   
  
“I don’t want you to see it now. What you see in your mind now is no doubt better than the reality.” He relented and told her the truth, which Sheena accepted with a nod. The woman in front of him shifted and lifted his hands to her face. At first he was alarmed and resisted flinching away from her, but the female Vorta simply applied a soft kiss to each of his palm. The gesture was alien, but somehow welcomed. For the first time, he didn’t feel like he was baring this burden alone.  
  
Sheena shifted up to him and gave him a kiss, much like the kisses she’d placed on his palm. When she paused to see his reaction, Weyoun didn’t actually think about his own actions. Instead, he remembered an occasion in the orb, when he and Mah’lel watched the sun set from a hammock they shared. Thinking about the sun and the simple pleasure of being near someone else, Weyoun kissed her back.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Keevan surveyed the Vorta in front of him: his five new roommates. He stifled a sigh. Keevan had gotten used to the private life with his own quarters and replicator. Albeit the quarters had been small, but he was alone to sort through all the things Weyoun had just thrust upon him since he emerged from his pod. It was overwhelming, but he supposed that his comrade felt that the time he’d given him was enough.   
  
“Keevan,” turning to the voice, a female Vorta stood near him. She was nearly his height, which was exceptionally tall for a Vorta, and had very long dark hair. “Have ripple berries been programmed into the replicator, or do I need to do that?” He blinked at the female and tried to see if he could place her face from the littler information he had been given barely an hour before. Weyoun had so graciously dumped eighty-three Vorta in Keevan’s lap on this visit. Their names and faces had been identified on the datapadd, though he hadn’t really done more than scan over it quickly while Weyoun rattled on about this or that, Dominion things.  
  
“Who are you?” Keevan asked her blankly and noted, with some irritation, that her brows rose slightly.   
  
“Laelin.” She informed him and Keevan breathed in. Laelin. He knew that name and it came to him where he knew it from. She was a Vorta engineer responsible for improving shielding on Jem’Hadar ships. Though, her clone had been retired nearly six decades before due to apparent defects that began to crop up with each cloning. It seemed that Weyoun’s selection process wasn’t random.  
  
Finally, Keevan answered. “Ripple berries are programmed into the replicator, though you may find them to be too strong now. Personally, there is a human dish called jambalaya that I’m rather fond of.” He recommended from his own culinary experimentation. Though, with that his digestive tended to react badly and he’d find himself restricted to the bathroom for some unpleasant consequences from eating that dish.   
  
Laelin thanked him for the advice and Keevan tilted his head, watching her athletic form walk away. She was…aesthetically pleasing. Shaking the unnatural—or natural apparently, thoughts from his head, Keevan turned his head just in time to see one of the other females go towards the bathroom carrying a bundle of clothing.   
  
“No! I know how long you women take in there. Let me in first.”   
  
  
Three hours later, Keevan would’ve gladly given a toe to be waiting outside the bathroom in his own quarters. His face, which was normally relaxed into boredom or smugness, was contorted some by thin lips and his usually pale purple eyes brighter with annoyance. He’d told Weyoun he wasn’t a diplomat. His method of handling things was to force the issue, but to do it with a diplomatic smile.   
  
“Yes Admiral, more Vorta will be coming, enough that will provide a sustainable gene pool. But, by the time those kind of numbers come through, we’ll have our temporary home established in the Briar Patch. It will be ready within the week as it is.”  
  
“That is a plan I’m still not thrilled about,” Ross replied to the Vorta in front of him. He had interrogated Keevan before and had noticed the differences. He did seem humbled somehow and Ross no longer had the instinctive urge to not turn his back on him, but he was still very much the Vorta he had spoke to during the war. “There are other inhabited planets in the Briar Patch. They don’t lay claim to the other planets, however they appreciate their privacy and, should you find yourself in trouble, they can’t come help you.”  
  
Rubbing his head, Keevan regarded the admiral. What made him think that they’d need help at any point? Perhaps it was how frail so many of the Vorta appeared. Appearances were deceiving as generally, they were pretty durable. Laelin, who he’d convinced to join him, stepped into the conversation. She’d been previously silent the whole time.   
  
“Admiral,” Laelin’s voice was somewhat deeper, though very soothing, Keevan thought. “I understand your hesitation. We’re not asking for help settling on one planet, but two and we only plan to live one of them,” Keevan wondered just whose side she was on. “But, until the Dominion threat is eliminated, which let’s be honest, may take quite a while, we need a place that will deter retaliation. The Briar Patch is well equipped for this. We’re turning our backs on our gods, Admiral. I think that deserves protection, don’t you?” Inwardly, Keevan snickered. Well played, for an engineer.  
  
Laelin continued. “And, it IS only temporary. Soon, hopefully, we’ll have a permanent settlement picked out and a team of workers, Vorta workers, not your personnel, will begin working on it. All we are asking for are supplies in exchange for giving you the Dominion. We aren’t even asking to take away any of your officers to do this. I think the trade is more than fair, Admiral.” Perhaps it was because Laelin was less threatening, but soon enough the meeting drew to a close and Admiral Ross, while perhaps not thrilled, seemed more at ease with their plans.  
  
“I’m glad you were here,” Keevan told her as they were transported back to the quarters they’d been assigned. He looked forward to being able to take walks around on the promenade, but information often times spread quickly and news of Vorta on Deep Space 9 would reach the Dominion’s ears sooner than they wanted. So, until then, they were restricted to fourteen large guest quarters in an area that was ‘down for maintenance’. This did allow some freedom, though with six Vorta to each of the quarters, one could only enjoy that so much. Still, he was happy for what they had and, as much as he grumbled over Kira’s arrangements, he did understand them.   
  
“Well, I admit that I have my suspicions on why I’m here.” Laelin voiced, though the rest of her comment came as a surprise to him. “I’ve worked with Weyoun before, before I was declared as ‘defective’ or anything. He knows that I’m used to working with difficult Vorta and difficult men in general.” Keevan glanced at her, slightly offended. Something must’ve shown through on his face because she was smirking.  
  
  
  
A lifetime ago, Weyoun would be standing there in utter elation. With a sea of dark caramel in front of him, Weyoun watched a lone stalk grow from it as it approached the small island he stood on. His face lit up with false adoration as the female Founder formed in front of him. Weyoun’s skin crawled. His hands spread in supplication for his Founder and gracefully, Weyoun bowed his head to her presence.   
  
“Founder,” Weyoun murmured the word and kept a measurable mix of respect, awe, and love in the tone. Outwardly, he belonged to them. Inwardly, he wanted to throw up.  
  
“What information do you have on Odo’s progress with the Federation?” They were never for small talk or concern for their servants. Why would they? Weyoun began the summary that he and Odo had prepared for the Founders. He watched as she accepted it without a second thought, her trust in Odo and in him total. At one time, he would’ve felt bad for his deception. Once, he also loved her too.  
  
Finally the Founder lifted an impatient hand. “What about this ‘Orb of Death’ that we’ve heard of? What information do you have on that?” The question caught Weyoun off guard, but he hid his surprise.   
  
“The orb strongly resembles the orbs of the Bajoran religion; however, it seems to carry the unique property of inflicting insanity on anyone who spends long periods of time around it. It is responsible for many deaths thus far.” Weyoun explained. He had no motivation to lie about that, though his curiosity about why the Founder asked got the better of him. “I could gather more information for you, Founder, and report back here.” Weyoun offered, fishing to see if he could get an explanation out of her.  
  
“We want the orb.” Her simple statement made him blink. Once again the changeling in front of him caught him off guard, but he nodded very slowly.   
  
“That will….take time, Founder.” The statement of fact earned Weyoun an aggravated look. Out of obligation, he bowed his head and watched as her attention turned upwards towards the stars.   
  
“We have plenty of time, Weyoun.” 


	15. Chapter Fourteen

“…The first group is settled in on the planet in the Briar Patch.” Kevan stated as he looked over the information and then pushed it to Weyoun. “They seem surprisingly upbeat. I’ve spent the night in caves and camping before, but they seem to think it is an adventure.” He offered a false smile to Kira, who sat across from him in the conference room. “Perhaps it was being under rifle point and in Federation custody that…soured the outdoorsman in me.” He looked down again at the new settlement information, intentionally missing the way Kira’s mouth opened in protest, then shut.  
  
From beside Keevan, a sharp elbow jabbed his side. Laelin had become a regular fixture at the meetings, mostly at the request of Keevan. The engineer was more diplomatic than the overseer, whose solution was to just force compliance with a smile. She could talk on their peace-loving level. Though, as Keevan rubbed over his side, he thought maybe she should sit on the other side of the table.  
  
“Survei IV is suitable, but until the Dominion is no longer a threat, it isn’t safe.” Laelin stated with a frown on her face.   
  
Kira nodded. “I agree and so does Admiral Ross. After further deliberation, he feels that allowing Federation teams to go onto Survei IV would be better all around. Not only would it mean that your existence stays secret longer, but seeing Federation officers building is less suspicious than a small, unidentified number. There’s less chance that it’ll be a target.” Kira explained, though her voice wasn’t as compassionate as it would be to dislocated Bajorans or some other race. Keevan understood, but to him, it only highlighted a double standard.  
  
“Isn’t the Surveallian Sytem rather close to Cardassian space?” Weyoun hadn’t spoken much more than a quiet greeting since his arrival at the conference hall. It had been three weeks since Keevan had seen him and he’d been hoping for more than that. Though, he supposed that they’d be talking after.   
  
“It is,” Kira spoke up first. “But it is the only suitable, M class planet that isn’t inhabited and is within a practical, acceptable distance. It is still in Federation space and under our protection.”  
  
“Until you negotiate another treaty with Cardassia,” Weyoun said quietly. “The Maquis, assuming they reformed, won’t even have us. And, if the Cardassians aren’t as understanding of us, what then?” Keevan watched Weyoun. He had valid points, but the fact was every other planet they found had this or that problem with it. Survei IV was the best choice for their new home, their new life. Weyoun was frowning when he continued. “But, if that is what you feel is suitable, Keevan, then that is what it is.” Keevan blinked in surprise. When they both loyally served the Founders, they knew one another and had a sort of rivalry between them. Weyoun antagonized him and second guessed him. Now, with such a big decision, he was putting his faith in him?   
  
Keevan was the one to answer Weyoun when the Vorta asked about construction. “It has already begun.” Yet again he was surprised when he was met with approval by Weyoun after he looked at the information. The universe was turned upside down: Vorta would be living permanently in the Federation, the Dominion would have a threat, and Weyoun trusted him.   
  
“I’m running late for another meeting,” Keevan looked up to Kira when she spoke. The Bajoran began to stand. “You three can take care of the rest of this?” He gave her a nod and watched as the major made her exit. Keevan turned his attention back to Weyoun.   
  
It seemed strange to be in charge, in a sense. It seemed even more unusual for Weyoun to trust someone else with the task, but he supposed that what they were doing did require delegating. “When can we expect more?” Keevan questioned as he began turning off datapadds. They had little else to say, really, though he did have a few choice words for Weyoun about the living arrangements.  
  
There was a pause as Weyoun seemed to consider it. “Within the next month. It takes time to clone so many without raising suspicion.”  
  
  
  
Her presence at the meetings with Weyoun was more of a formality. Kira had seen the plans, she knew that until the Dominion decided to free the Vorta they had in their service, Weyoun’s Vorta would be the only free Vorta. That was why there was a temporary site, stuck back in a place that most ships didn’t want to go and weren’t capable of either, and then there was the permanent settlement. It was a smart location; Kira gave Weyoun that much as she walked towards the upper level of Quark’s.  
  
“Kira,” she smiled when Odo spoke her name from the out of the way table that he’d gotten. In the time he’d been gone, Kira missed the rustic sound of his voice. Since his arrival, She’d been hoping, perhaps foolishly so, that they would get to spend more time together. Between relocating the Vorta and working with the Federation, Odo had little time for her and with her duties on the station, she didn’t have time for him outside of their professional duties. Tonight was different though and, for five hours they belonged to each other.   
  
“Odo, finally we’re not surrounded by people and with a conference table between us.” Sitting down, she took his hands across the table. It was still a table, but the setting was intimate, and even if it was Quark’s, she couldn’t find it in herself to mind.   
  
Odo smiled to her from across the table. Kira noted that his time with the Great Link hadn’t taken away that expression of personality on his features. “I’m so glad that we finally have more time.” His fingers stroking over the top of her hands gave her pleasant chills. “We have to coordinate our schedules. I want to see you like this more than once a month.” That was a statement Kira could sympathize with. Looking to their hands, Kira considered if her next words was something she wanted to bring up so early. It was more that she was afraid of the answer.   
  
“Are you going to stay, Odo? They’ll know you worked with him.” Inwardly, Kira chided herself for adding the statement. He knew that, he didn’t need her to remind him that they would know of his betrayal. She just didn’t want him to go. Kira waited for Odo to answer, watching as he studied the table.  
  
“I’ve always felt that the others kept things from me. In the collective knowledge of the Great Link, there are things that they…hid from me, from some of the other hundred.” Odo told her and frowned some. “I cannot hide things so well from them, and even if I could, they’d know that I was hiding something after a visit here. I won’t be leaving. At least” he hesitated and smiled to her again before resuming the back and forth motion of his thumbs over her hands. “Not any time soon. I can’t hide this from them, so I can’t go back to them until the Vorta are safe. I—We, the Founders—owe the Vorta that much.”  
  
While Kira tried not to show it, her body relaxed in relief. She’d felt cheated after the war because she’d lost Odo to the Founders, just like they’d wanted. But now, through Weyoun of all people, they had a second chance.   
  
“You didn’t do anything to the Vorta, Odo. That was them, not you.” The Bajoran told him softly. He didn’t need to take responsibility for so much, not when he didn’t do anything.  
  
Odo shook his head and sat back. “That’s just it Nerys. It wasn’t me personally, but the others, what they did to the Vorta cannot be ignored anymore.” Weyoun hadn’t been forthcoming about his motivations, so when Odo continued, Kira listened. “I do not have their perspective, but I can imagine how it went.  
  
“They found this planet, this race of people who’d outgrown their planet and had moons and small, budding colonies. But, in all this progress and their intelligence, they were arrogant. The Founders inspired them to grow beyond their meager cloning experiments and they appealed to the most skilled, most greedy and most ruthless of the population. And, when they did this, when they blindly gave the Founders everything they could, they finally made the ultimate sacrifice: their own people.”   
  
Odo looked at Kira and offered her a brief smile. “They didn’t even really willingly give themselves over. The short sidedness of some members of the race enslaved the rest. Weyoun showed me images of Kurill Prime—the real Kurill Prime that Vorta are never permitted to see. Their cities were vast and their homes were just like the ones on Bajor. All of it was devastated, the inhabitants long since dead, murdered by the Founders.”   
  
There was silence for a full minute as Odo processed the story he’d just told her. “I can’t imagine that.” It was more the idea of cities like Ashalla, or even Deep Space 9, left abandoned. The thought of the population evacuating was erie, the thought of the population as dead was horrifying.   
  
“The Vorta are victims of the Dominion, maybe even more than some others. Other races, other planets, they retain who they are after they’ve been conquered, but the Vorta didn’t. They became the Dominion, serving them every day and with no idea that the very gods they worship, destroyed them. “  
  
Weyoun’s face appeared in her mind, beckoned forward by the story Odo told. It wasn’t respect that bloomed inside her for him, but something else that she hadn’t yet identified. She was sure it wasn’t sympathy, but for the moment, Kira Nerys wasn’t comfortable putting a label to the feeling. Regardless of what she felt, she supposed that everyone and everything deserved a second chance, even the Vorta.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Life on Deep Space 9 did have its drawbacks, and one of them was that she couldn’t see how much one month changed the seasons on Bajor. The planet had exhaled after holding her breath all winter and allowed her people, and the animals and plants that dwelled on her, to warm up again. Now, after a whole hot summer, she was preparing to fill her breast with air again and let the world rest in the cool temperatures.   
  
Kira breathed in deeply, able to pick up the faint sweetness of koji vines growing in the hedge nearby.  
  
“You really miss being here, don’t you?” Kira turned to Lesedi, whose skin and uniform was a sharp contrast to white stone walls behind her. She smiled.  
  
“Sometimes,” Kira admitted. “Actually, a lot, but I’m only really aware of it when I’m here. I’ll miss Bajor while I’m up there, and then I have this to do or that to do and I stop thinking about it. Then I actually get here and I miss this or that about the station.” The Bajoran admitted and gave her Human friend a smile and shrug.   
  
As the two women stepped inside, Kira continued. “Do you think anyone would object to the station being moved from orbit and put here, on Bajor?” She joked as the two officers followed the well traveled route to Admiral Ross’ office.  
  
  
“As you might imagine, Commander Vorak has been very curious about the orb.” Five minutes after arriving at the office and the three of them were observing the ‘Orb of Death’ from a safe distance. Collectively, twenty feet, a force field, and four inches of glass separated the dangerous artifact from everyone. The only person who had been able to get close to the orb and not experiencing its damaging affects was Nog. Doctors credited it to his four-lobed brain and thus a different structure than the majority of people who came into contact with it. She was glad that Nog wasn’t too much like his uncle; evil orb or not, she didn’t want it sold to the highest bidder.  
  
“Vorak worked with an expert your Vedek Assembly sent and they’ve concluded that the object initiates an orb experience with anyone closer than fifteen feet.” Ross glanced to the other side of Kira and Lesedi when the sound of a door closing caught their attention.  
  
“We believe these telepathic invasions caused the condition of the Romulan officers. It was simply too much for an undisciplined mind to handle.” Vorak’s tone was as even as ever, though Kira had spent enough time around Vorak to detect the mild arrogance in his voice when he mentioned undisciplined minds. She also knew that Lesedi had passed up the chance to make some comment about it. She’d done it before in front of Admiral Ross despite disapproving, albeit understanding looks.  
  
“The Tears of the Prophets do not hurt those that experience them. A vision may be unsettling, but people do not go crazy after having an orb experience.” Kira Nerys wasn’t an expert, but she knew that much. Though, as she looked at the object, kept at such a distance just so they wouldn’t lose their minds, she had to wonder if it was even from the Prophets. There was another possibility, though it was one that chilled Nerys. The idea that the Pah-wraiths could be active was scary, it was more frightening that they could have their own orbs.  
  
“Commander Vorak and I have to go, we have a meeting to attend.”  
  
Lesedi’s voice drew Nerys out of her thoughts and she looked to her friend. Lesedi hadn’t told her about a meeting, but she didn’t keep tabs of her schedule. After quickly agreeing to lunch later, Nerys watched Lesedi walk out, the Vulcan behind her. She’d grown used to seeing the bickering  between her human friend and her Vulcan, so it was just one more thing not right in the universe when she didn’t see it now.  
  
Five minutes later and she was face to face with another thing not right in the universe.  Weyoun had his ever present smile on his face, his hands clasped in front of him as he regarded her and Admiral Ross. Weyoun was supposed to be the enemy, not turning against the Dominion. She was grateful, just unnerved.  
  
“I am pleased by the progress of the permanent settlement.” The Bajoran listened and followed along with Admiral Ross and Weyoun as they retraced the steps back to the orb. She only assumed that it had to do with the next phase if their plan concerning the Dominion. “We’re up to seven-hundred-thirty-four Vorta now. I will continue to move Vorta, however it is becoming more difficult to justify these trips.” The Dominion Ambassador’s trips had become less frequent, though he was no less dedicated and his load of Vorta reflected that. The longer he was away, the more Vorta he brought back with him. He was bringing information too. The Federation verified as much of it as they could, and the Admiral had grown to trust the Vorta. They now had a significant number of Vorta and, either way, they didn’t have much choice.   
  
As Weyoun continued on about the pressing requests for the orb, the three entered the labs and the Vorta became quiet. She could see the reddish, rust colored orb just as it had been a few minutes before. It really was identical to the orbs she was familiar with, except for the dark, unpleasant color.  
  
“How many Vorta do you have left to bring?” Weyoun didn’t answer for a moment.  
  
“I do about three-hundred more. One-thousand Vorta to restart my race. I think…that will be enough, don’t you?” Kira didn’t answer but stepped closer to the glass, her eyes on the orb. He had enough time to get the rest, then.  
  
Listening as Admiral Ross began to speak, she turned her attention to him as he outlined their plans. “We’re working on another orb. It won’t stand up to intense, thorough scans, but it’ll be enough for you to drop it off and then get back here.” The admiral seemed confident of that. Kira wasn’t sure but if she was honest with herself, Weyoun was disposable. It wasn’t an opinion she, or Admiral Ross, shared, but she was sure that it was in the back of the minds of Ross’ superiors. No matter what she thought of Weyoun, what he was doing was a big sacrifice for his people. He deserved to be free with them.   
  
“How soon will it be ready?” Kira heard Ross answer Weyoun’s question, explaining that it would be done in a few weeks. She also heard the hesitation in his voice when he answered a moment later. Despite that, the Vorta agreed that it was a good idea and that he would take it not on this trip, but the next one back to the Dominion.   
  
Kira watched as Weyoun stepped forward, his head tilted inquisitively as he regarded the orb. “Something on your mind?”   
  
Violet eyes found her dark ones and Weyoun offered the slightest shrug. “I am just wondering, you go to so much trouble for something that you don’t’ even understand how it works, for gods that you’ve never seen and let you suffer in an occupation.” His voice maintained the usual forced politeness she was used to, though Kira thought she heard genuine curiosity in it as well.   
  
“Faith is a matter of believing in something you can’t explain, see or understand.” Kira glanced at the Vorta. “With the exception of this orb maybe, the orbs are gifts to us, to guide us.” For just a moment, she thought that perhaps Weyoun understood that. His faith in the Founders, up until recently at least, was absolute.  
  
“There is one thing I have discovered, Major Kira,” Weyoun paused and looked to her, his smile slightly patronizing. “There are no gods. Those domesticated animals you people keep, to them you are gods. I’m sure someone is a god to your prophets, just as there must be to the changelings.” He paused and looked back at the orb, his head tilting again. “There is a human expression I heard Jake Sisko use once. ‘There’s always a bigger fish.”  
  
  
  
“AAAGGGHHH! Watch it!” Quark flinched at the sound of his own voice as he howled in protest of Doctor Bashir’s handling of his lobe.  “I’m an injured man! If you can’t do any better than that, go get that cute nurse.” As a matter of fact, he could go get her anyway. Maybe he’d be able to talk the curvy human blonde into some oomax. She looked like the adventurous type.  
  
“If you would hold still, or just stop trying to cheat your customers, this wouldn’t be such an ordeal.” The hew-mon sounded miffed, as if it was Quark’s fault that he was physically assaulted! Some people just didn’t know how to do business and didn’t understand that sometimes you had to act fast, or you took a loss. Quark winced and rubbed over his newly healed ear. He’d have to be careful to not be around when a customer took one of those said losses.   
  
Standing, Quark tugged down his tunic and gave the doctor a toothy grin. “Thank you doctor. Perhaps you should just send one of those kits with me? I do have a lot of other Ferengi working in the bar…” Quark’s words fell off slowly, his head tilted as he turned his head, listening. Something was familiar from the back part of the infirmary. Quark couldn’t immediately place the voice, though he was sure he knew it and hadn’t heard it in a while. Soft and drawling, it was definitely male and it always bugged Quark when he couldn’t place a potential returning patron.  
  
Disregarding the doctor, the short Ferengi started back. Immediately the taller, dark skinned human jumped in front of him. “Quark, there’s nothing back there.”  
  
“Yeah, but I have this tickle in my throat, I’m just going to grab a drink from your replicator.”  
  
“You own a bar, go get your own drink!”  
  
“No, I think— AHHHHH!”  
  
  
Stepping away from Laelin, Keevan grabbed his ears, the act was mirrored by the woman sitting on the bio-bed in front of him and gave Quark, who was shuffled in by the doctor, a dirty look. Once Quark was quiet, his eyes half the size of his ears, Keevan lowered his hands.  
  
“You’re dead!”   
  
“What can I say Quark? You leave a very lasting impression. I was compelled to come back.” Keevan was quiet when he felt Laelin smack his chest. In an effort to blend in during their stay, Laelin had opted to look human. Her tell was the large, violet eyes and Keevan found that he wished she’d had those changed too. It brought unwelcomed male attention to her and he couldn’t even do anything about it until he too was altered to blend in.  
  
“What are you here for? Did you do something to…well hello,” Quark took a moment to really look at the alien on the bio-bed. “Say, are you looking for a job? I just lost a dabo-girl and I think her outfit-“  
  
“Quark, this is a private matter, you shouldn’t be back here. Laelin, I can’t let you go yet, I have a few more tests…” Keevan watched Quark push off the doctor as he tried to push him back out again.   
  
Stepping forward, he regarded Keevan then looked at the doctor. “Whatever she says he’s done to her, he did it!”  
  
Keevan smirked. “I most certainly did.” Quark continued on as if Keevan didn’t speak and Laelin didn’t hiss a ‘shut up’, to him.  
  
“Do you know what he did? He tried to leave us on that other station when we rescued Moogie! Then, he tried to say he was trying to save us all and then he died! He shouldn’t be here, we accidentally-“  
  
“Ferengi, stop talking.” Laelin interrupted him, her expression sour. “Your voice hurts my ears.” Keevan watched as his mate slipped off the bio-bed and approached Quark. The height difference was noticeable and he watched how, despite the fact that she was constantly scratching, she still managed to seem intimidating. It made him smile. “I am Vorta too, my name is Laelin and this is not the same Keevan you murdered.”  
  
Laelin’s attention turned from Quark and back to Bashir. “Please doctor, just finish your testing so I can get some relief.” Helping her back on the bio-bed, he wanted to harass Quark into leaving, but Laelin continued to scratch and she was his priority, not the Ferengi.   
  
“Why are you here anyway?” Quark asked as the doctor, who was clearly unhappy with his presence, began another scan over the woman sitting on the bio-bed. As Bashir attended to her, he looked to Quark.  
  
“Well, we’re here because she’s experiencing some unique side effects-“  
  
“Nooo I mean why are you alive.” For a moment, Keevan enjoyed the ‘don’t be a smartass’ expression on Quarks’ face before answering.   
  
“The Vorta are liberating ourselves from the Dominion. The Federation is lending a hand and secrecy is important. So, let’s pretend like you never saw this, deal?” The Ferengi made a face, a toothy, opportunistic grin, though after glares from both Keevan and Laelin, he seemed to reconsider.   
  
“Oh fine, I don’t want to get mixed up with the Dominion again anyway.” Despite his desire not to get entangled in Dominion affairs, Keevan noted that the Ferengi remained, undoubtedly curious. Laelin didn’t seem to care, so he didn’t push the knobby headed thing from the room.   
  
It didn’t matter anyway, the doctor finished his test and began putting his instruments away. “Well,” he began “your body seems to be reacting naturally to your…condition.” A glance at Quark changed Bashir’s statement, and it didn’t go unnoticed.  
  
“Her ‘condition’? I still say poison.”  
  
“No he didn’t poison me.” Laelin sounded irritable, bending some as she scratched her spine. “He impregnated me. Though, I’m beginning to see why pregnancy and poison might be mistaken for one another.”  
  
Quark made a face as he looked between the two Vorta. “Ew,”   
  
  
“I hate Ferengi.” Keevan snickered at Laelin’s declaration after they rematerialized in their quarters. “Are they all so obnoxious and loud?” As Laelin tossed off her shirt and awkwardly laid over the back of a chair, Keevan used the cream provided by Doctor Bashir and began rubbing her back. Laelin was the first Vorta to be pregnant in the Federation and they had no medical records. The doctor was understandably hesitant to give her medicines to counteract the side effects of her pregnancy, which apparently was severe cases of itching.  
  
“Yes, all of the ones I’ve encountered are obnoxious and loud. Though, you should get used to it. As I understand it, so are new born babies. They poop and stink too. So, in eleven months, we’ll have a loud, messy, smelly offspring.”  
  
“Keevan, you make fatherhood sound so appealing.”  
  
Keevan jumped, his hands jerking on Laelin’s exposed back before he looked around. The Vorta settled slightly when he saw Weyoun sitting on their couch, which was in a more shadowed part of the room.   
  
Weyoun continued as if he hadn’t startled the two. “I admit, I thought it would take longer before the Vorta began to repopulate the all-natural way.” He stood up and approached. Taking a sip of a deep purple juice, he regarded them.   
  
“Well, that was the plan. We just…decided to get an early start.” Keevan replied as he rubbed the last part in. The woman bent over the back of the chair sighed in some relief before picking up her shirt again and angling to get it on. Keevan would’ve preferred to know about the other Vorta before Laelin provided such a show, but she had a bra on. There was some modesty observed, at least.  
  
All three Vorta sat down and when Weyoun handed over a datapadd and container of data rods, Keevan looked inquiringly at him. “That is everything.” Weyoun’s explanation wasn’t enough. Keevan looked at the datapadd and sat the container aside before looking back at him.   
  
“What do you mean, ‘everything?” Weyoun’s explanation surprised him, and somewhat overwhelmed the Vorta who, up until recently, didn’t like a lot of responsibility.  
  
“I’ve had Vorta working on Kurill to compile information on our culture. It is a dead culture, but it was ours before the Dominion. I want you to learn it. When I return, the responsibility will be on you and me to govern our people. We should both be thoroughly aware of our species past, so we will not make the same mistakes they did.”   
  
Weyoun’s explanation was sound, he decided, though he wasn’t sure how he felt about all that information. Looking over the datapadd briefly, he was aware of Laelin, who had shifted to look over his shoulder. She didn’t know it, but Laelin would be essential to learning this. There was no way he could pay attention long enough to assimilate all that information without someone keeping him in line.  
  
Keevan sighed. “What happened to the thinking that you only trusted me to make self serving decisions?” Keevan looked up to Weyoun. The other Vorta’s eyes were on him and Laelin and he almost thought he saw Weyoun’s stiff, formal smile soften just a bit.   
  
“You’ve got two very good reasons to do the best you can for our race. Even if you didn’t care about the rest of the quadrant, that is motivation enough.”


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Sheena’s skin was soft against his, pale and free of any impurities. She couldn’t have been more perfect if someone had crafted her, dictating what was where and in what proportion. Most Vorta believed that they did, that the Founders designed them. That was their truth, the absolute certainty in their life was that the Founders were gods and they were designed to serve them. Sheena had once been a person with motivations in life that had nothing to do with the Founders, just as he had been.  
  
Bending forward, Weyoun placed a kiss on Sheena’s bare shoulder and tightened his arms on her form. He didn’t have the benefit of hormones or carnal needs, not the same way Sheena did. But, Weyoun did have desires and he was motivated by that closeness he had with her right then. They’d spent the last six hours together, beneath the sheets and it pained him to know that it was drawing to a close.   
  
Very soon they would be on the way back to Deep Space 9, back through the wormhole and with the last of the Vorta. They wouldn’t have time to be together, not like this. Compulsively, Weyoun placed soft kisses on her neck and ear. Her skin was pleasant against his lips, and he didn’t want her to forget.  
  
“When will we be moving to the ship?” Weyoun paused at Sheena’s drowsy question. It could’ve been days and it would’ve been too soon. He didn’t want to leave that moment.   
  
“It’ll be sometime within the next few hours.” He murmured the reply before resting his head against hers, his face partially in her hair. “You used the fruity perfume again,” Weyoun observed and inhaled the scent deeply before sighing against her ear and neck. The act made the woman giggle and squirm some from his embrace. Weyoun, surprised, watched as Sheena shifted to face him and lightly kissed the Vorta.  
  
“After you get back from the next run, we’ll be able to stay on the new planet. I bet” she traced over the side of one of his ears. This time Weyoun squirmed. “I bet I could modify your genetic structure so you’re more like everyone else. You wouldn’t even have to be cloned.”   
  
Giving her a little smile, he took her fingers and kissed them. “Let’s worry about that after everything.” The Founders thought that Weyoun was doing their bidding during his brief time there. He was, though in addition to those tasks he was with Sheena too and finalizing what he had to do. A few of the Vorta they cloned replaced active Vorta, serving as overseers of ships and White facilities. Without them, he never would’ve gotten it all done.  
  
Reluctantly, Weyoun got out of the bed and began to dress himself. “All of the detonators are in place…including the one here and the ones on Kurill.” He told her, though he knew that Sheena wasn’t thrilled about it. She had protested the one at her facility because she wanted to clone him, but there was too much at risk for him to be cloned. He’d managed to convince her of that and she only grumbled a little when he planted the bomb at her cloning facility.  
  
“And you’ll be detonating them when you come back?” Sheena shifted on the bed, using the sheet for modesty as she got her own clothing out. Weyoun nodded to her and looked down as he finished with his shoes. Sheena had pressed him to bring her back with him. She could’ve stayed at the cloning facility, cloned him and just before detonation, they could transport away, completely unburdened by the Dominion anymore. It took some doing, but he’d swayed her from that. It was too dangerous and anyway, he wasn’t that concerned.  
  
  
Together, they approached the soft hum of voices as the one-hundred-fifty Vorta that were left prepared for the next leg of their journey. The facility was fairly open concept at that point. There used to be dividers but as Vorta went to their respective places, most of them going through the wormhole, the dividers only got in the way. Even sleeping took place there with cots set up. He didn’t have any objections to it because it was good for them to be social. To socialize, and to fraternize. The more the Vorta fraternized, the more Vorta there would be in the future. At one point he’d even considered suggesting multiple spouses, but that thought was quickly dismissed. By nature, Vorta were jealous creatures and didn’t appreciate someone else handling what they considered to be theirs. It was counter-productive to a population burst, but at least he knew that they would protect each other.   
  
“82 of the facilities are set to go.” He stated as Sheena quietly came up to stand beside him.   
  
“Including mine?” Weyoun only nodded and was grateful when Sheena pursed her lips but didn’t say anything. He understood it, but it was easier now that she didn’t seem to be pressing the matter. Silently Weyoun worked another ten minutes to verify that everything was ready. Sighing, the Vorta let his hands drop from the consol in front of him and turned to her.  
  
“I’m not going to be able to come see you while we’re in transit. There’s nothing I can do to get loyal Jem’Hadar, and they must not be suspicious.” So far he’d managed to avoid suspicion by carefully extracting any of the soldiers that got suspicious. They were so close to being done now; he wouldn’t risk it just to indulge a desire for company.  
  
Cupping her face, Weyoun kissed Sheena’s forehead before resting his own against hers. He didn’t need the company, the Founders removed that social compulsion, but he wanted it. He wanted to feel a sense of loyalty for his race, and he was sure that the Founders found that too distracting. No, they were jealous, just like their slaves, and they wanted all the love, loyalty and life one could give.  “It’ll be a few days before I see you again. If anything does go wrong, I’ll get rid of the Jem’Hadar and bring all of you onto the rest of the ship. We’ll deal with the consequences of that if we have to.” He would’ve preferred not, but it was risky business.  
  
Sheena moved and took one of his palms. Weyoun watched as she placed a chaste kiss on it and then hugged him. “We’ll be fine. All of us. We’ll make it back to Federation space and get settled in on the permanent colony. Then, we’ll find a way to clone you, sans the genetic changes, and then…then we’ll have a new life. You, and me, and the rest of the Vorta.”  
  
Weyoun only smiled.  
  
  
  
“Has Odo given you any idea of his plans to return?” Weyoun kept his head down in supplication, though the irritated undertones of the female Founder in front of him were evident.   
  
“No, Founder.” He did his best to sound regretful. “He expressed that he was making a lot of progress with the Federation. They are developing a relationship with him again-“  
  
“And Kira Nerys?”  
  
“Yes, he is around Major Kira, Founder.” Weyoun couldn’t resist but poke at that sore spot. The Link, the big mass of molten goo that dictated the fate of races all over the Gamma Quadrant, couldn’t stand his physical relationship with the Bajoran.  
  
“Inform Odo of our desire to have him back home. We are safe here, and his solids will turn against him.” He nodded and told the Founder that he would. That much was true, though he already knew what Odo’s reaction would be, and it wouldn’t be to run back to them. When the female Founder asked about the orb, though, Weyoun paused.  
  
“I believe I can get it to you soon.” He finally looked up, though he wasn’t surprised to see her flat, thoroughly plain face communicate so little emotion. “The Federation, understandably, has it under tight security.” He allowed his schooled smile. “Of course, that means little to us. I should have it for you on my next return.” Weyoun wasn’t surprised when he didn’t get any indication of approval.  
  
Weyoun watched as the Founder took several steps back to rejoin with the Link. Turning, she looked at him and finally, an expression was communicated over her bland face. “Well, what are you waiting for? Leave for the wormhole immediately.”


	18. Chapter Seventeen

“Visually, this orb looks the same as the one you saw before.”  
  
Weyoun glanced to Major Kira and took a few steps closer to the red orb sitting five feet from him. It looked just like the original one he’d been introduced to, except for the steps they’d taken to keep it away from everyone. Thankfully, that wasn’t a trait that they had tried to recreate in this fake.  
  
“We weren’t able to recreate the signature for scanners, so you’re going to have to make an excuse about that as to why you have to put off scanning it.” Weyoun nodded, though he remained silent as Kira explained the details about the orb. Really, he didn’t care. The details didn’t matter to him, and they wouldn’t matter. He almost felt bad for them; they went to all this trouble for nothing.  
  
As he listened to Kira talk, Weyoun marveled at the trust they put in him. If he were in their shoes, he wouldn’t trust him. He would doubt everything he said, from something as small as he was hungry to his motives for bringing his people there. Yes, if it were him, he wouldn’t trust himself. Then again, he already stopped trusting himself. It happened somewhere in the orb, whenever the moment occurred that he felt more comfortable with Mah’lel’s arms around him or awkwardly playing with Rahlen, than he did with his head bowed to the Founders.  
  
“Weyoun, are you listening to me?”  A baritone, slightly irritated tone broke through his thoughts and Weyoun looked at William Ross. He gave the Admiral a brief, cool smile.  
  
“Of course I’m not. I’m betraying my gods and liberating my people. I’m a little pre-occupied.” Weyoun was relieved that the admiral’s response was only an aggravated sigh and he repeated his question. What was his plan?   
  
Weyoun smiled and stepped closer to the fake orb in front of him. “After I beam the orb down, I plan to destroy the ship.” He made up on the spot and gave the admiral a smile, who nodded.   
  
“We’ve got a shuttle that we’re installing into the cargo bay of your ship. There’s not a lot of room, the design doesn’t allow for it, but it is warp capable and we’re using the dampeners you’ve got established to hide it.” Once again he wondered about these Federation types. They had extended protection to him and his other Vorta. Did they really think that the Dominion, that the Founders, would simply let it go? Oh, even the Federation wasn’t so dense that they’d assume that, but they just felt sure that they could protect the Vorta. “If you can just make it to the wormhole,” Ross concluded with a nod “then we’ll protect you.”   
  
Weyoun was silent for a long moment before he finally spoke softly. “I need you to promise me something.” He looked up at Ross, fixing his violet eyes on the human’s.   
  
“Promise me that when I return and my people are settled into our new home, we will not be coddled.” He shook his head. “My people have been raped. The Founders took everything from us, and when our world was gone, they used us to serve them. We are victims, but we’ll be susceptible to being victims again if we aren’t made to be stronger.” He explained and, hesitating, he touched the orb. They could never be victims again, not of conquest or of war. Perhaps the majority of his people didn’t understand why, not in the way he did, but that didn’t matter. All of that was possible due to a Bajoran artifact. How ironic that an alien species destroyed them and they claimed to be gods, and the gods another one saved them.  
  
“We won’t.” Admiral Ross had allowed for a few moments before he’d spoken. “We won’t allow anything to happen to you and your people.”  
  
  
  
After Weyoun left, Kira looked back to at Admiral Ross, her brows drawn together.   
  
“Admiral, I don’t understand the loyalty. Weyoun might be different now, he might have turned from the Founders, but why are we being so generous?” She might’ve grown up a lot from the Occupation, but she still didn’t understand that. The Federation was good and with good ideals, she knew that, but they’d go this far?  
  
“Weyoun was their most trusted Vorta, and he’s given us their secrets. We know facilities, locations, ship designs…Weyoun didn’t hold anything back. All he’s asking for now is a planet and the protection of the Federation, and that’s IF the Founders decide to act on it.” Ross explained and shrugged. “Trade a planet and some ships for the secrets of the Dominion? It seemed fair.”  
  
Kira listened and then nodded at what he said. It did make sense, it was just hard to imagine being on the same side as Weyoun. She supposed that stranger things had happened. After all, Weyoun had turned from the Founders.  
  
“I heard about Vorak.” Kira looked back to the Admiral and then to the orb in front of them. The real orb was safely behind wards and security, probably more now after Vorak. The Vulcan had claimed that the reason the Romulans had succumbed to its supernatural abilities was because they were not disciplined. To prove his point, he’d strolled up to the orb and at first, they thought he was right. The Vulcan was fine and had that typical arrogant air that all Vulcans seemed to radiate.  
  
Then, as Vorak worked through studies of the orb, his stature had changed. His tall, elegant form hunched and twisted. The man grasped the table and had let out a strangled, guttural sound, as if something had violently seized his lungs. Along with Lesedi, Kira watched him grab his head and Vorak and his disciplined mind crumpled in front of them. He hadn’t uttered a word sense, and Lesedi rarely left his side.   
  
It was all unfortunate business, but “it doesn’t help our case. I’m sure that Vorak would’ve been the first to point out that this is evidence that indulging the Bajoran religion and allowing it to be active within the ranks of officers is dangerous.” Vorak’s current mental state was motivation enough not to wish it hadn’t happened, but Kira would’ve been lying to herself if she didn’t admit that it also had to do with making things harder on the arguments centered on the Bajoran religion.   
  
“Has the Federation agreed on the orb?” Kira didn’t look at him, but she was aware of his presence beside her. His silence and then the sigh had been answer enough.   
  
“Not yet. The incident with Vorak swayed some over to the conclusion that it needed to be destroyed, but there’s still a lot of opposition.” Kira looked at Ross, who glanced at her before turning to face the Bajoran.   
  
“But, that’s the way politics are Major, at least Federation politics.” She hated politics. “They encounter an issue and each side gathers their evidence and then they debate about it until somebody either a. loses, or b. something happens to force a decision.” Ross continued and then sighed and shrugged. “Or they all get so tired of it that they agree to anything and then go home.” She laughed a little and nodded.  
  
“That’s all politics.” Extremely simplified of course, but politics. 


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Weyoun imagined his molecules being reorganized as he solidified and the humid, warm temperatures of the Founder homeworld. They liked it rather warm, though personally he found it a touch too warm. It was humid enough, just too warm and it made him feel a little claustrophobic. He rotated a full circle before he looked over the molten sea in front of him and watched as a solitary form began to rise from the surface. The female Founder approached the island where Weyoun stood. When she reached him, he didn’t bow his head in supplication, but just watched her.   
  
“I was expecting to transport up to the ship.” Weyoun nodded at the statement.  
  
“I thought this would be better.” It was hard to tell what she was thinking. Odo had adopted the mannerisms of solids: a blink, frown, grunt or tilt of his head, but not the female Changeling. The liar. But, she didn’t have any of those traits that made it easier to discern what she was thinking.   
  
“And what news do you bring of Odo?” Apparently she wasn’t thinking that his behavior was odd yet. How pacified they were in feeling that they had the utter devotion of the Vorta, of him.   
  
“Odo will not be returning to the Link. He’s decided that his place is there, among those that truly love him.” He was wrong about those mannerisms. The Changeling before him looked at Weyoun with an expression of surprise before her eyes, widened, flickered off.  
  
A clap of thunder broke the quiet serenity of the atmosphere and Weyoun turned to the sound. The Founder homeworld was artificial and except for the island he stood on, didn’t have any land masses to speak of. There was no rain, no wind gusts, nothing that was on a normal, flourishing, M-class planet. That was why such a sound was so unnatural.   
  
The normally bland sky was ripping open speedily as they watched. An object was breaking the atmosphere with a smooth, long streak. Fire ripped around it and Weyoun couldn’t actually see the hull of his ship piercing the atmosphere, but he knew it was.   
  
“What’s happening?!” The harsh question made Weyoun look at the Founder, who had a few other forms solidifying near her.  
  
“Come to enjoy the show?” He asked them softly and with a smile equally soft. Weyoun then looked back at her. “That’s my ship breaking the atmosphere of your world. You know…I hadn’t really thought about what it would look like.” Weyoun turned back to the sky above them. “But…I think it must be beautiful, in a tragic kind of way.” His voice was never above a whisper and he smiled. Weyoun looked back at the Founders standing behind the female. His smile faltered just a little.   
  
“Don’t worry,” he knew they were. “No one is coming to help you. I’ve been a very busy little Vorta and when that ship started into the atmosphere, Vorta cloning facilities and Jem’hadar breeding and White facilities began blowing up.” Weyoun nodded and shrugged. “The Vorta will have enough White to sustain the Jem’hadar for a week, but after that…” he smiled again and actually laughed under his breath. “You wanted their loyalty and protection, drugged the animals for it, and because of that your empire is going to self destruct and leave what will be left of you defenseless. Can’t you appreciate the irony of it?”  
  
They didn’t answer and he wasn’t surprised. He looked back at the ship. Weyoun could make out the edge now. He knew it was going down very fast, but from his perspective it wasn’t fast enough.  
  
“Why?” The haunted question wasn’t a surprise and Weyoun looked back at the female Changeling.   
  
“I found Kurill.” He tilted his head. “We weren’t tree dwelling. We were civilized, thriving. Stupid, but thriving. I suppose we were ripe and too tempting of a species for you.” Weyoun sighed and welcomed himself to sit on the ground. Pulling his legs up, he rested his elbows on his knees and gazed at the ship.  
  
“We paid for our stupidity though, didn’t we? You stripped us of everything. Well,” his voice dropped again; he wasn’t even talking to them anymore. “I’m taking it back.” The metal of the ship was glowing orange now and the fire caressed parts of it that hadn’t yet slipped into the atmosphere of the planet. He could see the design of simple lines on the bottom of the ship.  
  
Several minutes went by and Weyoun sat in complete silence with the Founders. “I loved you, you know. You made me do it. You made sure that we loved you. It wasn’t enough that you took our world, our technology and our culture, you took our choice.” Weyoun glanced down and could feel himself tremble as he thought about Mah’lel and Rahlen.  
  
“You even took away our ability to reproduce and to experience pleasure from sights and sounds, feelings.”   
  
Her eyes were beautiful. Their coloring was the perfect shade of violet and the shape was round, like coins.   
  
“You made sure that you were the most beautiful, loved, worshipped things in our lives. You never even considered that the Vorta could’ve served you better if in serving you we could promote ourselves.”  
  
The ship was closer now and he could feel the hotter temperature.  
  
“How insecure you are as a species that you cannot negotiate or reason. You had to take a whole race of people just to do it for you.”  
  
Movement beside him caught his eye. It was the female Changeling, and she was looking at the sky. When he felt her ‘eyes’ on him, he looked at her. “You’re going to die here too,” Her voice was strangely devoid of emotion. Weyoun shrugged.   
  
“Somehow I always knew that when I met my final end, it would be with you.” He paused and looked at the ship, the end of everything for him. His clothes were so hot that they burned his skin and his lungs made it hurt to breathe in.   
  
“I met a Vorta woman once, who you never took. She wasn’t touched by you.” The Vorta gasped in. His lungs were burning! “Her name was Mah’lel and she was beautiful. I think I love her now, not you.”  
  
  
  
Hot, white light overwhelmed his vision and Weyoun winced, shutting his eyes. When he opened them again he was sitting on the consol of a Jem’Hadar ship, the same model that his ship was. Everything seemed strangely bright. It glowed and was darker than the standard level that they kept lights. How’d he get here?  
  
Jumping off the consol, he walked around to the front of the bridge. He blinked and was surrounded by people. Sheena stood in front of him, her heart shaped face was expressionless as she stared at his own. Beside her was Laelin. Laelin’s stomach was protruding, a rounded mound in the center of her mass. The sight made him smile: the first Vorta born in a very long time.   
  
Beside her stood Keevan and his expression was like Sheena’s, blank and intelligent. Keevan didn’t give himself enough credit. He’d be a good leader, which was why he chose Keevan. Laelin would smooth the rough edges and balance out his sense of self-preservation with her mindfulness of their people. It seemed that they’d already been working on that if the baby was any indication.   
  
“Weyoun,” he turned to Sisko, who had appeared behind him, and raised a brow. “Weyoun has done what we needed him to.”  
  
“Weyoun was successful.”  
  
“He’s prevented the future”  
  
“and saved the past.”  
  
Turning around as they spoke, Weyoun listened to them before they all looked to the headpiece resting over the rail. Glancing at them, he picked it up and put it on. It activated without prompting and Weyoun watched a Dominion ship enter the wormhole. Immediately he knew it wasn’t normal and the ship seemed to be attacked by lightening from the chaotic walls. Quickly, it blew up and in the chaos, he could see the orb. Red bolts came from it and soon a vortex grew where the orb was. The vortex had grown to swallow up one end of the tunnel linking the two quadrants. The environment filling his eye was so chaotic and violent that seeing the motion made him sick to his stomach.   
  
Red and blue fought. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he could see that they were. A void grew between them and Weyoun was glad that there was no sound. It looked to be howling and angry, and it only grew until Weyoun’s vision was also swallowed up in it. The screen went blank and he gently turned it up.   
  
“That was the real orb, wasn’t it?” He didn’t get a response. “That’s what would’ve happened if the Federation had given me the real orb.” It wasn’t a question, and the red orb wasn’t from the Prophets. Again, the forms just watched him.  
  
His viewer flickered on again and Weyoun pulled it over his eye. Laelin was in a bio-bed holding a baby. It was a girl, a baby girl with the widest, violet eyes he’d ever seen. A group of black haired, elongated eared children sat in a half circle around a Vorta adult, datapadds in each of their little hands. A Vorta Starfleet officer. Weyoun snorted a little at that one. His hair was slate grey, face marked with age as Rahlen stood in front of him with a woman, both of them were smiling at him.  
  
Several more images shifted in front of his eye. They got faster until he had to shut his eyes against the fast and offensive changes. When he didn’t see the light behind his eye, he looked again and there he was again, in his own viewer.  
  
Jem’hadar were at their stations while Weyoun sat in the one chair on the bridge and went over a datapadd filled with information. The shipped rocked and in a flash the Jem’hadar were gone and the bridge was darker. Weyoun was surrounded by the figures again, exactly as they were now. He demanded an explanation and like before, they waited until the Vorta understood. Weyoun picked up the headset and put it on. And, as he watched himself watch the screen, Weyoun knew what they showed him. It was Kurill Prime, when it was still beautiful and when the Vorta were still beautiful, natural and as they were meant to be. They showed him the true face of the Founders before ever knew it. His viewer flashed again and the Jem’hadar were back, dead, and he was unconscious on the floor of his shaking ship.  
  
Silently Weyoun took the headpiece off again. This was never about the Vorta and it was all about the Prophets. He looked around at the figures that silently watched him.  
  
“I should be angry,” Weyoun murmured and sighed. “I don’t believe in gods anymore but, even so, do you think you could spare a little benevolence for my people?”  
  
They didn’t answer and Weyoun winced. His skin hurt, his face and even the hair follicles on his head. A sound came from him and he touched his chest. He couldn’t breathe at all. Despite those sensations, he smiled.   
  
Right there behind his eyes, Mah’lel was there with Rahlen. They were playing in the park and it was so green. Rahlen laughed—squealed, and Mah’lel laughed at him.   
  
They were beautiful, and they were the last things he saw before the white light overwhelmed his senses once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you a thousand times over for reading. Those of you that have been here from the beginning know how long it has taken, but it's done! There are some questions that have come up during the course of this, and I’ll strive to answer them all here.
> 
> ‘Libernobis’ was derived from ‘liber’ meaning ‘free’ and ‘nobis’, which means ‘us’. That is, according to my handy online translator. I don’t speak Latin!
> 
> Yes, she was a colonel and no, I didn’t intentionally demote her. I was just lucky enough to be able to fix it in the story though.
> 
> I’m not really a huge Bajoran fan (I’m not against them, I’m just more of a Vorta/Cardassian girl) so I don’t know if that’s exactly how the Prophets work. But, they are gods and can make whole ships disappear, so do we really know their limits?
> 
> I WAS planning for Vorak and Lesedi to be more active! It didn’t work out that way, though I got a feeling you haven’t heard the end of them, if I write more in the Libernobis universe.
> 
> Lesedi didn’t leave Vorak’s side because, well…opposites attract. If I had had the time to do the ‘shorts’ that I planned, we would’ve seen them develop more.
> 
> Vorak will recover. The disciplined mind did screw him over, but he’ll recover.
> 
> I planned on this story being more steamy than it was, actually! I’m not sure that it really earns its rating.
> 
> I’m planning a prequel taking place on Kurill Prime, but I’d like to do a post-Libernobis role play that takes place on the Vorta colony. If you’re interested, please let me know. If enough people would like to, I think it’d be fun, and you don’t really have to read the story.


End file.
